


That Animal Burned Down

by Vita_Orlando



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blowjobs, Dom Katsuki Yuuri, Face-Fucking, Grand Prix Final Banquet, Heartbreaker Yuuri, Innocent sex appeal yuuri katsuki, M/M, Oblivious Heartbreaker Katsuki Yuuri, Oblivious Katsuki Yuuri, Post-Banquet, Sub Victor Nikiforov, Supportive celestino cialdini, Yuuri Protection Squad, the smut has arrived
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 06:58:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10657308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vita_Orlando/pseuds/Vita_Orlando
Summary: A canon divergent bit of fluff where Yuuri and Victor wake up together after that fateful Sochi banquet.“You were quite spectacular last night.” Victor went on.“What did I-“ Yuuri was actually too horrified to ask.“Oh, you just danced. Wonderfully well, in fact.” That didn’t sound so bad. But clearly there was more to the night than just dancing, because here Yuuri was. In Victor Nikiforov’s hotel room. In Victor Nikiforov’s bed.“Did we . . . “ Yuuri hoped Victor understood what he was asking, because he couldn’t bring himself to say the words.“Dance together?” Victor lowered his voice to a rumble that felt like warm honey rolling down Yuuri’s spine. “Oh, yes. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in years.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are other things I should be working on, but this idea wouldn’t let go of my brain, and I couldn’t easily find any banquet fics where Yuuri and Victor wake up together. The rating is for the final chapter. You won't find smut here yet. 
> 
> The title is taken from "The Morning After" by Ellen Bass

Yuri opened his eyes, regretted that and all his other poor life choices immediately, and closed them again, praying that the ice pick slamming in through his eye sockets might stop soon. He was too hot. He was sweating, and he could smell the alcohol in it. He pushed down the heavy hotel comforter. He tried to anyway. It wouldn’t budge, held down by an arm slung across his middle. Oh shit. He thought hard, trying to recall the end of last night, but there was nothing. He remembered feeling horribly awkward. He remembered surprisingly quality champagne, and . . . . that was about it. Saliva flooded his mouth and his stomach lurched. He fought free of the covers and then went the wrong way, eyes cracked open just enough to avoid collision. He finally found the en suite and vomited weakly into the toilet. Champagne. Horrible thing to get drunk on. He should know better by now.

He thought of the person in his bed. Apparently, he should know better about a lot of things. This certainly wasn’t the first time he’d woken up with company after a night he couldn’t remember. It had been awhile, though. Phichit kept him from doing anything exceptionally stupid lately. Yuuri filled one of the hotel cups with water and rinsed his mouth. He groped for his toothbrush and toothpaste, eyes still shut against the light filtering in from the room. He brushed his teeth, then drank several glasses of water. His stomach didn’t protest much, though his head felt like it might split apart at any moment.

He lay back down and buried his face in the pillow, scrunched to the edge of the mattress to avoid disturbing the blanket covered lump beside him. He definitely did not want to be conscious right now. Maybe if he went back to sleep, whoever it was would just quietly leave and Yuuri could pretend that nothing ever happened. Plan in place, he drifted, not quite asleep, aware of boredom and vague discomfort. He had no idea how much time had passed when there was a harsh, insistent knocking at the door. He could tell from the light that it was still early, though.  He’d just ignore it until whoever it was went away. He pulled the pillow over his head and held it down, resolute that he could convince himself and the rest of the universe that he was asleep and should not be bothered.

A stream of angry Russian filtered through the heavy hotel door. It must be Yuri Plisetsky, then. What was that kid’s problem anyway? The bed shifted slightly as the person beside him got up to answer the door. Yuuri tried to say “just ignore him” but his face was against the mattress, there was a pillow over his head, and he was diligently avoiding consciousness, so it came out a lot more like a doubtless incredibly attractive “innnnguhhhh.”

A few moments later the door opened and there was more Russian yelling, and hushed murmuring that Yuuri definitely couldn’t make out. The door closed with a gentle click and then a loud bang, probably a kick, reverberated in Yuuri’s skull before everything went quiet again.

The protective cocoon of his pillow was peeled away. Yuuri didn’t try very hard to fight it, but he kept his face resolutely pressed against the bed. “Good morning, sleeping beauty!” came a hideously cheerful voice. Yuuri knew that voice. His eyes flew open as he turned and all his worst fears were confirmed. Victor Nikiforov’s perfect face was leaning over Yuuri on the bed. Somehow, entirely unfairly, he looked even more attractive than usual. Maybe it was the smile. It seemed different from the one he usually had on television. No one had a right to look that good bare moments after being hounded from a dead sleep by an angry Russian teenager.

“V-v-victor!” Yuuri stammered. This was bad. Really, really bad. What exactly did he say to Victor last night? He’d been obsessed with the man for long enough that he could have embarrassed himself pretty horribly. Again, he tried to remember, but there was champagne and then there was nothing. Maybe it hadn’t been that bad. After all, Victor apparently went to bed with him and woke up smiling. That was kind of okay, even if it just meant that Victor was just impossibly nice. Yuuri had thrown himself at Victor, and even not having recognized him at all, the man took pity on him. If Victor was as free with his charms as rumored, spending the night with a stranger wouldn’t be a big deal to him. He certainly wouldn’t have intentionally _chosen_ a drunken fumble with someone like Yuuri. If he was going to humiliate himself, Yuuri really wished he could treasure the memory. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried to dredge something from his brain, it just wasn’t happening.

“How are you feeling?” Victor stood up straight and Yuuri got a view of perfect, lean thighs right in front of his nose. He let his gaze travel up, past rather skimpy underwear, over the pale, perfect abs and back to Victor Nikiforov’s face, now showing an expression of kind concern. Yuuri hoped for a brief moment that this was a dream, but he’d never had this kind of headache in a dream, so that was probably out. Victor’s smile widened and he laughed beautifully. “Let me get you some medicine.” And a moment later, Victor was shoving pills and a glass of water at him. Yuuri sat up and accepted both, attempting to show some gratitude though he was still too stunned to function normally.

“Um . . . “ Yuuri said, after a long moment. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t remember much of anything about last night. Why are you in my room?” Two days ago Victor hadn’t even known who he was.

“Ah. Well,” Victor began, sounding amused, “You’re in my room, actually.”

Shit. That was worse, right? Yes. That meant, Yuuri realized with dread, that he’d used Victor effing Nikiforov’s toothbrush. After he threw up. Not for the first time in his life, Yuuri fervently wished he’d never been born. “Oh.” Yuuri said, stupidly. Should he say about the toothbrush? He probably should, but maybe not yet.

“You were quite spectacular last night.” Victor went on.

“What did I-“ Yuuri was actually too horrified to ask.

“Oh, you just danced. Wonderfully well, in fact.” That didn’t sound so bad. But clearly there was more to the night than just dancing, because here Yuuri was. In Victor Nikiforov’s hotel room. In Victor Nikiforov’s bed.

“Did we . . . “ Yuuri hoped Victor understood what he was asking, because he couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

“Dance together?” Victor lowered his voice to a rumble that felt like warm honey rolling down Yuuri’s spine. “Oh, yes. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in years.”

Yuuri hoped that wasn’t a euphemism. He persisted. “Right, but, umm . . . “ there was nothing to do but just say it. “In bed, did we, um, did we . . . “

Victor huffed. “Yuuri! You were, as you must now realize, very drunk. I do hope you think me more a gentleman than that. I may have a bit of a reputation, but I would never-“ _sleep with a drunk idiot like you_ , Yuuri heard, though the words went unsaid.”

“No! No! No! Of course not!” Yuuri assured. He’d managed to say the wrong thing again. “I just wanted to make sure. I really don’t remember much at all. I’m sorry to have troubled you. I’ll just be going.” Yuuri looked around frantically. “I’m sorry, where are my clothes?” He asked finally, wondering if he could possibly feel any more idiotic if he tried.

“Oh, I threw them away.” Victor sat on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked up so that his thigh pressed against Yuuri’s hip.

“What?!” Yuuri asked. “Why?”

“That suit was horrible.” Victor gave no trace of apology, he sounded happy. “I really don’t like anyone representing our sport with that kind of style. Good luck for us, we’re in Russia, and it was quite easy for me to arrange for a tailor to come out. National hero, etcetera.” Victor gave a funny little wave of his fingers.

Yuuri blinked. Should he be grateful or insulted? Of course he had read that the Russian Skating Federation only put up with Victor because he won a lot. Somehow, he still didn’t expect his idol to have this kind of personality. He also couldn’t go wandering the hotel in his underwear. That left exactly two options. He could borrow something from Victor-unthinkable, or text Ciao Ciao and beg him to bring a change of clothes. No, Celestino probably already wanted to drop him after his godawful performance in the final, no need to make him do it before they even flew home. But that left him here nearly naked in Victor Nikiforov’s bed, reeking of alcoholic sweat and waiting for a tailor he almost certainly couldn’t afford. Well, he could do something about the smell, at least. “I think I’m going to take a shower, if that’s okay?” He said, looking intently at the weave of the blanket covering his lap.

“Good idea!” Victor said, beaming, “I’ll join you.”

“No! No! No!” Yuuri ran into the bathroom and slammed the door feeling like his heart was about to jump out his throat.

“Why are you getting shy on me now, Yuuri?” Victor called, sing-song.

“You said nothing happened!” Yuuri blurted out.

“Well, you definitely acted like you wanted it to. But I didn’t know if sober you would want what drunk you wanted.” Victor paused, then said, more muted, “I guess not.” And it really wasn’t fair how disappointed he sounded because there was no way for Yuuri to make sense of that. Yuuri’s hand hovered over the doorknob. Then he shook his head, disgusted with himself. As it turned out, he didn’t have the self-respect to decline the offer of a pity fuck from Victor Nikiforov. He also didn’t have the confidence to actually take what Victor offered, either.

After a moment, Victor called through the door, still pleasant, but less exuberant than before, “You should use my products, they’re much nicer than the hotel’s. The conditioner has toner in it, but your hair is too dark for it to show.”

Yuuri let his head drop against the cool tile and tried to calm down. He reached for the hotel soap, then wondered if Victor would be offended if he realized Yuuri hadn’t done as he’d said. Yuuri picked up Victor’s body wash and popped the cap, sniffing at it. Yes, Victor would definitely be able to tell which he’d used. Also, he now knew what Victor’s soap smelled like. He could probably die happy. In fact, if maybe the universe could arrange for that right now so that he didn’t have to face the rest of this awkward situation, he’d be forever grateful.

After the shower, he dried off, then wrapped a towel around his waist. Victor must have heard the water stop because he tapped on the door just as Yuuri was resigning himself to putting his day-old underwear back on. “Yuuri!” He called. “Open up, I have clothes for you.” Yuuri cracked the door and took the proffered bundle quickly before closing it again. Victor had handed him a navy t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants, along with a shockingly skimpy pair of . . . Yuuri wasn’t quite sure what the name for this kind of underwear was. They looked like women’s panties, but they were clearly designed to accommodate male anatomy. Anyway, he’d just been given a pair of Victor Nikiforov’s underwear. It was almost enough to make him forget about the headache. It was a kind gesture from the man himself, and the only thing remotely creepy about the whole scenario was probably Yuuri’s own attitude.

_I probably shouldn’t taint his clothes with my loser self_. He thought glumly, but put them on anyhow, because there really wasn’t another option.

The door jerked open suddenly and Yuuri, halfway through putting on the pants, almost lost his balance in surprise. “Why would you say that?” Victor asked. Shit. Had he said that out loud? For some inexplicable reason, Victor looked annoyed. “You made it to the Grand Prix Final, didn’t you?”

“And then I bombed.” Yuuri looked at the floor, uwilling to meet Victor’s eyes.

“Did you?” Victor asked. “I wasn’t paying attention.” There was no malice at all in the statement. Victor said it so simply, as if, _obviously_ anyone not on the podium was beneath his notice. Yuuri wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.

“Completely.” Yuuri said. “Five-year personal worst.” That wasn’t a thing, but Yuuri figured for him, it probably should be. It was so much more hideously memorable than any of his good performances.

“Why?” Victor asked, his head tipped to the side and a curious expression on his face like he actually cared about Yuuri or his skating.

“I guess I just can’t handle the pressure.” Yuuri said, bitterly.

“Let’s be more specific.” Victor said, still upbeat, but serious now. “If you want me to coach you, we need to talk about these things.” Victor leaned forward, crowding into Yuuri’s space. “So, what happened?” He asked gently, brushing the pad of his thumb over the light stubble on Yuuri’s cheek.

“Coach?” Yuuri was confused. Victor wasn’t a coach. Even if he was, he certainly wouldn’t bother with Yuuri. “Are you thinking of coaching?”

Victor gave him a strange look, then shook his head. “As a matter of fact, I am. I’ll be twenty-seven in a few weeks. I can’t skate forever.”

“I bet you’d be the best coach.” Yuuri said immediately.

“Really?” Victor sounded genuinely curious, “My coach doesn’t think so. So tell me, what went wrong for you in the final.”

“I was pretty nervous to begin with. I’m. . . um . . . not very confident.” Yuuri gulped. He actually hadn’t thought about Vicchan this morning. Suddenly he felt horribly guilty. “But my short program went okay, I guess. I tend to do better in the free anyway. Then, the morning of the free skate, my dog died.” Did he even deserve to be sad? He certainly hadn’t been around for the last five years, certainly didn’t have his supposedly beloved pet in the forefront of his mind today.” There were ugly sobs building in the back of his throat, he could feel them, but he would not cry, dammit. That would be too pathetic. Even for him.

“Oh.” Victor looked stricken. “Yuuri.” He smoothed Yuuri’s bangs back from his eyes. Yuuri froze. He was feeling way too many things right now. “Even I wouldn’t be able to do well if something like that happened. I have a dog. If she got hurt, “ Victor shuddered, “I don’t know if I could skate at all.”

That was sweet of Victor to say, even if it wasn’t true. Yuuri almost forgot to feel awkward until Victor casually turned on the shower and slid out of his singular article of clothing.

“You’re blushing!” Victor said, apparently delighted. “Didn’t you say your family runs a hot springs resort? You must have spent your whole life bright red.” Victor giggled and Yuuri wished, again, that he had a convenient hole to crawl into.

“That’s different. You’re . . . .you.” Yuuri felt like he was flailing, but Victor seemed pleased enough by this non-explanation. Victor didn’t say anything else for a moment and Yuuri fled the bathroom to sit on small desk chair. He couldn’t find his phone anywhere, and he felt naked without it. At least he’d managed to keep his glasses with him though.

It wasn’t long before Victor returned from the shower in a fluffy hotel robe. “Come here, Yuuri.”

Yuuri did.

“Sit in front of me.” Victor climbed onto the bed and patted the space between his splayed legs.

“Umm.”

“Now.” Victor’s tone was firmer now and Yuuri did as he was asked. As soon as he’d settled Victor pulled a comb from the pocket of his robe and started fixing Yuuri’s hair with exceptional gentleness. He was unhurried about it, and Yuuri thought that despite many years of athletic training, he might have a heart attack. Victor was European, this probably wasn’t such an intimate thing to do in his mind. Finally, Victor seemed satisfied with his work and settled against mounded pillows, tugging Yuuri backwards with him.

The movement was quick, unexpected and Yuuri tried to brace himself, but Victor was strong and had the advantage of leverage. Yuuri’s hand pressed awkwardly against Victor’s thigh between them. “You’re much more cuddly when you’re drunk.” Victor observed. Yuuri was prevented from apologizing again by the ringing of Victor’s phone. “Ah! Celestino.” There was a pause, congratulations on another gold, probably. “ Thank you.” Victor listened for a moment. “Yes, yes Yuuri is with me. He’s right here.” He handed the phone to Yuuri and nuzzled against his head. “Your coach is looking for you.”

The conversation with Celestino wasn’t as awkward as it might have been, Yuuri supposed. In fact, once he knew Yuuri was safely in the hotel and that Victor had looked after him, he seemed mostly amused by the whole thing. Yuuri offered to meet him for lunch, but Celestino just laughed and told him to enjoy himself until they met for their flight that evening. He’d left Yuuri’s phone at the front desk in case he was looking for it.

Victor pulled Yuuri against his chest again, and Yuuri stiffened, still tense, but didn’t move away. Victor was the one driving this, not him. Yuuri didn’t have any illusions, this was obviously some odd whim on Victor’s part, and the man was clearly used to getting his way. Yuuri would certainly never have such a chance again, so he’d enjoy the time Victor chose to give him and do his best to remember every moment.

Unfortunately, exhaustion won out over his best intentions. Yuuri was terribly sad to realize quite some time must have passed when he next opened his eyes. He was alone. Victor must have found something better to do. Oh well. It had been nice while it lasted. Yuuri found his glasses on the nightstand and put them on just as Victor emerged from the bathroom. “You’re awake!” Victor seemed happy about that. “Are you hungry? Breakfast should be here-“ He was interrupted by a knock on the door and a call of “room service”. Yuuri watched dazed. Victor held the door and hotel staff brought in a cart loaded down with trays.

The smell of food made Yuuri’s stomach rumble and he hid his face, embarrassed. “I didn’t know what you’d like.” Victor was saying, “So I just ordered everything.”

“Sabotage?” Yuuri asked. “You don’t need to, you know.”

“What?”

“I’m going to put on ten pounds just _looking_ at all this, Victor.”

“Oh.” Then Victor visibly cheered. “Well, I’m not your coach yet, so I think we should enjoy ourselves before I feel compelled to lecture you. Just try a little bit.”

Victor apparently assigned himself the role of taste-tester. Trying a bite of each dish, and adding bits to Yuuri’s plate only when he had declared “vkusno!” It was mostly typical American-style breakfast fare, but Victor made sure Yuuri tried several blini, each with a different filling. Those were particularly good. Yuuri loved crepes, and blini were similar. “Oishi!” He proclaimed softly, using his own language as Victor had used his.

Victor smiled with wide eyes. “I’d better start learning Japanese. I love languages!”

“What do you want to learn?” Yuuri asked. Maybe he could help.

“I want to be able to get around, at least. What was your city called again?”

“I’m from Hasetsu.” Yuuri said quietly. “It’s a small city. Barely more than a town, really.”

“So, English and French won’t help me much. I want to learn enough to live comfortably in Hasetsu. That’s where you want to train, right?”

“I train in Detroit.” Yuuri answered, confused.

“I’m not totally against the US, Yuuri, but I’m not moving to Detroit.” Victor looked as if this would be obvious.

_Oh my god_ , Yuuri realized, suddenly, _he’s serious. He thinks he’s going to become my coach next season_. He could tell his mouth was open. He was probably gaping like a fish.

“Yuuri?” Victor was waving a hand in front of his face, looking both amused and concerned.

“Do you really want to be my coach?” Yuuri asked, so quietly he wasn’t sure Victor would hear him. “Have you even seen me skate?”

“I’ve seen you dance.” Victor said, as if that meant anything. “And you’re Yakov’s favorite in the field right now. He told me that last night, and he was certainly watching the competition. Whatever you messed up, it must not have been that bad. Probably jumps, yes?”

Yakov Feltsman’s favorite. That made even less sense than Victor’s sudden interest. Victor was known to be flighty and impulsive. Yuuri could handle being Victor’s excuse to take a break next season, but Yakov Feltsman was a serious coach. He’d been training Russian champions for decades. Yuuri couldn’t be a favorite of someone like that.

Victor was babbling on, apparently unconcerned by Yuuri’s lack of response.”-anyway, he’s always going on about how disappointed he is with the new scoring system and how jumps aren’t everything.” While Victor was talking, he’d been poking at his phone, and now he threw both hands up in triumph. “Yuuri Katsuki, stunning performance. Let’s watch this one.”

Yuuri heard the familiar strains of the theme from “Howl’s Moving Castle” and relaxed marginally. He knew what Victor had found. It was a charity exhibition he’d done a few months prior at the request of the JSF. He’d been proud of that performance, and his usual nerves hadn’t gotten to him since there was no pressure of competition. He’d been happy that his skating could help fund research at the children’s hospital. He wasn’t sure it was quite worthy of Victor’s scrutiny, though. Victor didn’t say anything at all, face serious as he clicked on another video, and another. When Yuuri saw him pull up his free skate from just a couple of days ago, he excused himself to the restroom. He knew that he was running away, but he couldn’t watch that, couldn’t bear the disappointment he was sure to see on Victor’s face. It had been a nice dream, to actually think Victor might coach him, even it was about to end.

When would absolutely be weird to remain in the bathroom any longer, Yuuri hesitantly opened to door to see Victor beaming at him and reaching for his hand. “Let me be your coach, Yuuri!” Victor beamed at him. “You’ll win next year’s Grand Prix Final.” Victor winked, his trademark charm, usually presented for the world, was laser focused. Yuuri felt like it was searing a hole in his chest. He gave the only answer he could.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phichit is pure gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sol much for your support! Every single one of your comments and kudos and bookmarks man so much to me and keep me going.

“Vitya!” Yakov yelled exasperated. Victor turned, wondering what his coach was so worked up about. He’d been skating beautifully. He could feel it. “You’re distracted! Mark your jumps for the rest of the day. I don’t want you injuring yourself before European Championships.”

  
Victor nodded. He didn’t really feel it was necessary, but jumps weren’t his focus today. He couldn’t skate Stammi Vicino the way he had earlier in the season. Everything about that piece had been desperation in a classically beautiful shell. If a man screams into the void, and no one is there to hear him, does he make a sound? That was the feeling, the aching question Victor put into every movement of that routine, and now he couldn’t possibly pull that off. Everything he felt was a simple plea, directed at a specific person. Stand by me and never leave.

  
He couldn’t skate his program without picturing kind brown eyes alight with adoration. He remembered the feel of Yuuri holding him, leading him in a dance that felt too much like foreplay for Victor to believe there really wasn’t any chemistry between them. He almost collided with Georgi, who gave him a look that could have peeled paint.

“Sorry Georgi, I’m too love struck to focus properly.” Victor said, and he applauded himself internally.

  
That strategic bit of honesty softened Georgi’s expression and he nodded. “I thought you were skating that a bit differently.” Georgi said. “I can barely recall the last time I saw you smitten with someone.”

  
Victor didn’t answer that. This was not the time to make declarations. Yuuri Katsuki seemed, in the cold light of day, entirely uninterested. Victor supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. The guy had blown him off when he’d offered a photo. He’d seemed so different at the banquet, different in a way that made Victor hope for things he probably should have given up on by now. He’d been hoping it had been a case of in vino veritas. He’d been wrong.

  
Perhaps Yuuri was just smarter than everyone else. He’d already figured out what so many of Victor’s paramours tended to decide after a few weeks if Victor himself hadn’t gotten bored and ended things early. It was always a variation on “Victor, you’re married to your work.” Or “Victor, you’re just too much.”

He’d been managing his image long enough. He knew how to be a perfect boyfriend until he got comfortable. Then the trouble started. People liked “Victor the boyfriend”, “Victor the celebrity”, “Victor the playboy”, “Victor the artist”, they didn’t like just plain Victor the human. And somehow, with Yuuri he’d forgotten to be careful.

  
“Move!” Yura bellowed as he flew by, circling the rink and then flying into a triple axel very near the space Victor had just vacated. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, joining Victor at the boards and taking a swig from his water bottle.

  
“The Japanese Yuuri won’t talk to me.”

  
Yura huffed derisively. “Yeah. Well, I’d forget about it, if I were you. He’s pathetic, and he’s still too good for your bullshit.”

  
“He wanted me to coach him, though. He asked me.”

  
“And then he realized you never even heard of him before the banquet even if he did make it to the Grand Prix Final. He came in 12th at worlds last year.” Yura rolled his eyes and huffed again. “And now you suddenly want to coach him? You just want to get in his pants. He’s been in skating in your bracket for the past six years and the first thing you notice about him is his ass. Of course he doesn’t want you to coach him.”

  
“But-“

  
“Shut up old man. I’m not done yet. You threw out his clothes. You dissed his city and told him you want him to move. He goes to university there, asshole. He’s not going to quit school just because Detroit isn’t fashionable enough for.Even you can’t be arrogant enough to think he’d want anything to do you.”

  
“But his skating is beautiful. He has the skill to win!”

  
“No shit! At this level, so does anyone. Or are you starting to believe all your own hype? Living legend, my ass. I’m going to beat you next year.”

  
“I still want to coach-“

  
“Just skate while you’re not too decrepit to pull it off.” Yura threw his empty water bottle at Victor’s head and took off again.

  
Victor had stopped all attempts to contact Yuuri for a full forty-eight hours after that. But then he decided he had to keep trying. He wanted to know if Yuuri would be watching Euros, though, wanted to tell him he’d changed out his gala piece.

All he had managed to discover in the weeks since Sochi was that Yuuri turned his phone off an awful lot. Or he was terrible about charging it. Or he’d blocked Victor’s number. Maybe it was a time zone problem. Victor didn’t really think so, but it was worth a try. He’d stay up tonight and try to reach Yuuri during his evening. He could just be busy during the day, especially since he was in school.

  
How could he possibly go to school full time and skate his best? That was a problem, from Victor’s perspective. Amazing that he’d done so well with his attention divided like that.

  
A little after one in the morning, Victor sat on his couch, playing with Makkachin’s fur and trying to calm his nerves. He took a deep breath and dialed. Yuuri’s phone rang five times, then rolled to voicemail. At least it was on. He called again. And again.

On the fourth attempt, he got through. “Hi!” Came a chipper voice that definitely wasn’t Yuuri’s. “Yuuri’s in the shower.” Oh. Oh. “Who are you and why do you keep calling him?” The mystery man’s tone was protective. A lover? Of course Yuuri had a lover. Why else would he have resisted Victor’s attention so adamantly? Victor knew they had chemistry. If he could just talk to Yuuri, he’d prove he was better than whoever this guy was.

  
Victor thanked his stars he had a business reason to be calling. “We had tentatively decided that I’d coach him next season. I’m Victor Nikiforov.”

  
“Holy shit.” the voice sounded amazed now. “I can’t believe I’m actually talking to you! Nice to not quite meet you. I’m Phichit Chulanont.”

  
The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Victor couldn’t place it. “Yes, nice to meet you.” Victor remained carefully pleasant. Phichit got to Yuuri first. That was no reason to be snarky. “Are you a skater, too?”

  
“Yes! I train with Yuuri and we’re roommates.” Oh. Roommates. Did he dare to hope?

  
“Are you dating?”

  
“Who, Yuuri?” Phichit cracked up laughing. “No way. I love Yuuri. He’s my best friend in the whole world, but oh my god, not in a million years.”

  
“Is he seeing anyone?” Victor asked.

  
“Phichit,” Yuuri’s voice in the background sounded resigned. “Is that my phone?”

  
“Why, yes, Yuuri,” Phichit’s voice was saccharine sweet, but muffled now, not directed at the mic. “It is. I’m talking to Victor. Apparently that’s the Russian number that’s been contacting you approximately 28 billion times per day. It kept going off, so I answered it.”

  
“Sorry, Phichit.” Yuuri’s voice was distant. “I forgot to turn it off.”

  
“Well, he’s holding right now, so maybe you should come take the phone.”

  
“Ah, I really don’t need to take up any of his time.” Had Victor been dismissed already? Apparently not, because Yuuri’s voice was directed to him next, so rushed Victor couldn’t get a word in edgewise “Hello Victor. I know you weren’t really serious about the coaching thing, so you don’t need to worry about it. Also, the suit came this afternoon. It’s really nice, but my Russian’s not very good and I couldn’t figure out how to pay for it so maybe I can just send you a paypal or something? Also, thank you for being so nice to me in Sochi, sorry I didn’t answer before.”

  
“Yuu-ri” The name rolled through Victor’s mouth like a kiss that was sweet and just a little bit dirty. “Yuuri, I think you’ve misunderstood.”

  
“I did? I’m so sorry!” Yuuri said. He sounded panicked.

  
“Yuuri.” Victor “The suit is a gift.”

  
“I can’t accept that!” Yuuri said, “It’s too much. And you shouldn’t be giving me things! Why would you do that?”

  
“Because I want to.” Victor answered. There were other things he could have said, but he got the sense he might want to ‘tone it down’ as Yakov so often told him. “If you insist on compensating me, send photos of you wearing it, and watch the European Championships gala. I want to know what you think of my new routine.”

  
“O-oh-okay . . . “ Yuuri said. “Um. Sure. I can do that.” He sounded kind of suspicious, though.

  
“Good.” Victor said. “And Yuuri, I was serious about coaching you next season.”

  
Yuuri’s only response was nervous laughter and a strained. “Oh. You really don’t have to say that, I’m not very good, and you don’t want to move to Detroit, anyway. Thanks again for trying to be nice to me, though. And for the suit. Um, I have to go.” Followed by silence. He’d ended the call.

  
Maybe Chris would be able to help.

  
Victor opened up a text. _What do you know about Yuuri Katsuki_?

  
_He’s usually pretty quiet. Talented skater, but I think his nerves get to him. Oh. And of course we both know he could pivot to competitive pole dancing if he ever gets bored with skating. You hooked up with him. You probably know more than I do._ Chris replied.

  
_We didn’t hook up. He was drunk_.

  
_You two were locked in your room the whole next day. I figured you were at it like bunnies once his hangover eased up._

  
_No such luck_

  
_I flirted he ran away_

  
_He was in your room all day. Tiny tiger wouldn’t stop yelling about it._

  
Victor sighed. Chris couldn’t help if Victor wasn’t honest with him. _I trapped him_

  
_??_

  
_I threw away his clothes_ Victor explained.

  
Chris responded immediately. _Oh honey . . . .you are too much. It was a hideous suit, though._

  
_I had a tailor come make him a new one. Too much? Really?_

  
_Much too much_

  
After a moment, Chris added, _All part of the Victor Nikiforv experience. Don’t worry about it._

  
_Chris, you’re the only ex I’ve got who hasn’t burned me in effigy._

  
_Who says I haven’t ;)_

  
_Really?_

  
_Really, Victor. I love you. As a friend. Dating you was . . . hard. That’s old news, though. He didn’t call his coach to bail him out. He probably wanted to hang out with you._

  
Victor had thought so. He was no longer sure. _I fed him breakfast. We cuddled and had naps. It was nice. Was he just being polite? He won’t answer my calls._

_How many calls?_   
_A lot_

  
_I don’t even want to know what that means. Don’t be a stalker._

  
Victor wasn’t stalking anyone. Yuuri had given him his phone number immediately when Victor asked. Using it should be fine. _He has to answer me eventually._

  
_Or take out a restraining order. ~.~ Even you can’t sweet talk the ISU into ignoring something like that._  
Victor couldn’t give up. He just couldn’t. Everyone in the universe might think he was shallow and over the top, but Victor had never once met someone who looked at him the way Katsuki had. It had to mean something.

  
Victor had been nearly ready to call it a night when his phone lit up with a text from a number he didn’t recognize.

_Hi Victor. This is Phichit_. Ah. Yuuri’s friend. The protective one not dating Yuuri.

  
_Hello there_. Victor added the contact under “Yuuri’s Friend Phichit.”

  
_I’m going to help you. Come to me with all your Yuuri woes._

  
Victor mouthed a quick prayer of thanks skyward. _You think I have a chance. It’s not all too much, is it?_

  
_If you want to get through to Yuuri, you kind of have to be too much._

  
That sounded hopeful. A moment later, another message from Phichit came through. _What are your intentions towards my son?_

  
_I thought you were his roommate_.

  
_It’s a figure of speech. Now spill. He says you offered to coach him. Did you mean it? Or are you just after the finest ass in skating._

  
Victor was offended by that. Why did everyone act like it had to be an “or”? _I meant it. I want to help him reach his potential. And I kinda think I want to marry him one day if he’ll let me._

  
Dots indicated typing showed up beside Phichit’s name, disappeared, then came back. Phichit was obviously typing things and then deleting them, not sure what to say. After a while, another message came through. _You are his coach, then. Executive decision. Done. Keep it on the DL until after worlds while I work out details here._

  
A few days later, Victor received another message with an address, the name of the rink where he’d be coaching Yuuri, and the wonderful suggestion that he stay in Phichit and Yuuri’s apartment.

 

After a string of every happy emoji he could think of, Victor asked,  _Does your building allow dogs?_

_Yeah. Your dog better be nice to my hamsters, though._

  
_Of course! Not to worry_. Makkachin was very sweet with other animals. Victor had never seen her show any prey drive at all.

  
Phichit’s response came almost immediately. _Cool. I’ll get things set up here. See you at Worlds_. Then, a moment later,  _I’m doing this for Yuuri, not you. I don’t care how perfect and famous you are. If you hurt him I will cut you._

  
//

  
Yuuri walked home from class, resigned to the fact that he’d have to switch this one to an audit status. He’d signed up for it hoping he might be able to graduate this spring, but there was no way he’d be able do well in a graduate level applied mathematics course while remaining seriously competitive in Four Continents and Worlds. He wasn’t even sure he could pass.

It was an elective, probably he should have taken something easier, but he wanted the option of graduate school or a decent job. He wouldn’t be able to skate all that much longer.

  
Celestino’s car was parked in front of the building. That was weird. Phichit’s practice didn’t end too long ago, though. Maybe Celestino had given him a ride home.

When Yuuri opened the door, his heart fell into his stomach. Celestino and Phichit were looking at him from the couch, their expressions falsely cheerful. Was this an intervention? Over what? Yuuri waved and made a break for his room, sure that he wasn’t going to like whatever this was about.

  
“Yuuri,” Celstino caught him by the shoulder and steered him back towards the couch, “Phichit tells me Victor has offered to coach you next season.”

  
Oh shit. Celestino was probably mad. “No!” Yuuri said immediately, “I mean, he did, but he can’t be serious. He’s just trying to be nice or something. Why would he want to coach me?”

  
“Probably for the same reason I asked you to come here the first time I saw you in Japanese nationals.” Celestino said. He didn’t sound mad. “I am fairly certain Victor is completely genuine in his offer at this time.” Yuuri still didn’t think so. Anyway, it sounded like there was a ‘but’ coming. “But, Yuuri, I’m pretty well acquainted with Yakov Feltsman, and some of the things I know about Victor make me a little concerned.”

  
Yuuri couldn’t think of how to respond to that, so he didn’t say anything.

  
Celestino went on. “Victor has the attention span, and the memory, of a goldfish, Yuuri. I absolutely believe he’s as smitten with you as he seems. If he was asking to date you, that would be one thing, but Yuuri, he’s saying he’ll coach you just to get close to you. And when he loses interest it won’t just be your heart on the line. That would be bad enough. If he’s your coach it will be your career, too.”

  
“The only thing more absurd than Victor wanting to coach me is Victor wanting to date me!” Yuuri couldn’t listen to any more of this. He definitely could not. Besides, if, by some chance, Victor actually had any kind of interest in Yuuri at all, Yuuri would take whatever he could get and be grateful. “I don’t know where you’re getting this idea that he likes me. I mean, I wish it was true, but there’s just no way.”

  
“You spent a whole day with him in Sochi.” Celestino observed mildly.

  
“Because he felt like he needed to correct my fashion choices lest I tarnish his image by association.” Yuuri said glumly.

  
“Yuuri,” Phichi cut in, “Why do you take everything in the worst way possible. He wouldn’t have had that suit made for you if he didn’t want to see your assets.”

  
“Oh crap!” Yuuri muttered. Pictures. Victor wanted to see the suit on him. He should probably send some before bed. “Phichit, I need your help with photos later.”

  
“Of course.” Phichit’s smile made Yuuri wonder if he was up to something.

  
“Yuuri,” Celestino still sounded serious, “Please think about what I said. I’m here for you. If you want to see how things go with Victor, that’s fine. I’m not taking on another student though. I’ll be here if you decide you need me next season. And you should stay at the rink anyway, unless you want to go back to Japan after you graduate.”

  
“I’m not graduating this spring.” Yuuri said “I’m switching my last class to audit. I’ll take it for real in the summer. I can’t keep up with both engineering classes and skating. I’ll end up in a mental hospital.”

  
“I’m . . . “ Celestino seemed to be weighing his words, “Glad you realized that, Yuuri. Waiting until the off season to push your academics is a good idea.”

  
“Damn, Yuuri!” Phichit said later when Yuuri emerged from his room. “I wish I had a suit that looked that good. Probably cost more than my whole monthly budget, though, yeah? I guess I couldn’t say no either if Victor had a tailor come make bespoke formal wear for me. You’re really lucky.”

  
“I actually don’t know how much it cost.” Yuuri admitted sheepishly. “He insists it’s a gift. All he wants in return is photos of me wearing it and for me to watch him skate at the European Championships Gala and tell him what I think of his routine. I guess he’s trying something new.”

  
“Yuuri!” Phichit actually squealed. “Yuuri! You know what this means, right?”

  
“Um . . . “

  
“You need more that ‘help with a few photos’, Yuuri. You need, ‘World’s hottest fashion shoot with Katsuki Yuuri.’ And you need eyeliner.” Phichit was already dragging Yuuri to their shared bathroom when he apparently had another thought and pulled him toward the kitchen instead. “Step one. Liquid courage.” Phichit pulled out a shot glass and a bottle of vodka and made Yuuri drink three shots in a row before he yanked him back in the direction of the bathroom. “Good. Now eyeliner.”

Yuuri groaned. There was no stopping Phichit when he got like this, though. At least they probably would get a few decent shots to fulfill Victor’s request. When Phichit deemed himself satisfied with Yuuri’s face and hair, he grinned and said, “He’s going to be panting for you.”

  
Yuuri didn’t think so, but the alcohol was starting to get to him. It would be fun to pretend, at least for now, that Victor Nikiforov wanted to look at pictures of him.

His expression must have said enough, because Phichit grinned even wider. “Great. Let’s get started.” 


	3. Chapter 3

“Vitya!” Yakov growled from the boards. “Your damned phone made that noise.”

  
“Thank you, Yakov!”

  
“You wanna switch to speed skating before the next Olympics?” Yakov asked, rolling his eyes at just how quickly Victor had made his way across the rink.

  
Victor took his phone without further comment. For all his grumbling, Yakov took good care of his skaters. He’d apparently listened when Victor tried to make him memorize the particular tone assigned to messages from Yuuri Katsuki. Of course, Victor had threatened to change both his competition routines just weeks out from European Championships if Yakov didn’t tell him immediately should Yuuri contact him.

  
 _Thanks again_ was all the message said, but it was followed by three photos of Yuuri in the suit Victor had given him.

  
"Oh" Victor gasped. The photos showed Yuuri, neat in the dark blue three piece suit. His hair was slicked back, and between his glasses and his smirk he looked smart and sassy and maybe even a little dangerous.   
   
 _Wow_. Victor texted immediately.   
   
Victor considered booking a flight to Detroit then and there, but if he did that, Yakov would certainly kidnap Makkachin for the remainder of the season. He'd done it once before, when Chris reached legal age and the two of them left a trail of empty bottles and broken hearts across Prague.  
   
Yakov had gone to the kennel and removed Makkachin to Lilia's house. He spent the rest of the season metering out canine visits in exchange for Victor's good behavior. Victor had been furious at first. How dare Yakov leave his precious, sweet puppy with his humorless shrew of an ex-wife. Miraculously, when Victor saw his dog again, she seemed happy. Lilia had subjected her to a ridiculous haircut and a flashy jeweled collar, but had otherwise doted just as much as Victor might.  
   
Still, Makka was older now, it wouldn’t do to have his baby shuffled around more than necessary. He’d have to settle for chatting until he could see Yuuri at Worlds.  
   
 _Beautiful, Yuuri! I knew that style would look amazing on you! ❤_ Victor sent, bare seconds later.

  
_If you say so_

  
_I do._ Victor shook his head. _Are there more?_

  
_Phichit’s STILL taking photos. Right now. So yeah._

  
_I want them all!_

  
“Vitya!” Yakov warned. “I will take it away if you don’t focus on practice.”

 _Yakov is pissed_ Victor typed with a sigh. _I better get back to practice. I mean it. I want them all. I’ll text you when I’m done_.

Yakov kept Victor late, trying, for the thousandth time in the past decade, to get him to practice an alternate version of his routine in case he made a missed a jump. Victor swore he was doing it just because he knew Victor wanted to be out of there. Why would he compete with jumps he couldn’t do?

  
Finally, Victor managed to exploit a pause in Yakov’s hollering to push in a quick, “We’ll discuss it later, bye now!”

  
Victor slung his bag across his back, pulled out his phone as he exited the rink. Over the intervening hours since their last chat, Yuuri had indeed sent more pictures. Victor would need some time alone with these, he thought, nearly walking out into traffic. Victor flashed his best smile at a harried looking woman driving a Honda in apology for nearly jumping into her path. That was a mistake. She swerved violently, apparently realizing she’d nearly run down a national hero. Her car narrowly missed colliding with another in the neighboring lane, and a cacophony of horns rang out. “Oops. Sorry!” Victor called. He wasn’t usually quite so careless. His phone pinged with another notification and Victor quickly hailed a cab. Walking was apparently not safe at the moment.

  
 _Victor!!! I ghpe yr practice is gd. I l fla teh suit but I almst spilled tequila nit so I tk it of for safety_. This was followed by a photo of Yuuri, naked, at least from the waist up, and looking delightfully wrecked, glasses askew and eyeliner smudged, a trace of liquid shimmering on his chest. _Phichit won lem put pjs on he keps saying you like thessse pic to._  
Victor took a moment to puzzle out Yuuri’s drunken messages and whispered a small prayer of blessing for Yuuri’s lovely roommate. Then his fingers were flying Y _es! ❤ ❤ ❤ More?_

  
Moments later, his phone buzzed with a facetime request from Yuuri Katsuki. Victor pressed accept and suddenly, there was Yuuri, dissheveld, shirtless and lovely “Typing is really hard right now.” He slurred. “Is this okay?”

  
“Yes!” Victor said, feeling his mouth stretch in a grin. He paid for the cab. “I always want to talk to you.”  
Yuuri giggled and hiccoughed, then mumbled something in Japanese. Then the feed cut out for a few moments while Victor rode the elevator.

  
“Victor! Victor where are you?” Yuuri was calling.

  
“I was in the elevator. I’m still here.”

  
“Are you bringing me home with you?” Yuuri asked.

  
“Of course!” Victor answered immediately. He lost sight of Yuuri when he opened the door and was greeted by an armful of love starved poodle. “Oh, Yuuri, this is Makkachin. Makkachin, say hello to Yuuri.” Makkachin barked twice and Victor beamed. She was such a good dog. He set down his things and flopped down on the couch.

  
When Victor turned his attention back to Yuuri, all of the giggly cheer was gone. There were messy tears on his cheeks and his nose was running. “Yuuri, Yuuri, what’s wrong?”

  
“Nothing. S’fine. I miss Vicchan” Yuuri said, and the camera swung wildly as he sobbed. Right. Victor had forgotten. Yuuri’s dog died just a couple weeks ago.

“I got him when I was twelve because I saw pictures of Makkachin and I wanted to be like you. But he was the such a good dog and I didn’t even see him for five years because I’ve been away for training.” Victor’s heart was breaking. He felt a glimmer of something wonderful, that Yuuri had looked up to him all those years ago, but Yuuri’s grief weighed heavily on him. It hurt to not be able to hug him. A long silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

  
“I’m definitely going to bring Makkachin with me when I come to coach you.” Victor said, finally, “She’ll love you just as much as I do.”

  
Yuuri huffed at that. “You barely even know me.”

  
“I know enough to know I want to know you more.” Victor’s voice was soft.

  
“That’s so weird.” Yuuri said, all breathless and awed. At least he wasn’t crying any more.

  
“Why?”

  
“Can I show you something embarassing?” Yuuri’s words were still slurred, and the image careened again until Yuuri’s face came into view. He was walking, not too steadily, from the looks of things, and then the camera swung again. It took Victor a moment to realize what he was seeing due to the strange angle, but then he understood. It was a wall, covered in posters and magazine clippings, all photos of himself. “I’ve always looked up to you.” Yuuri laughed drunkenly again. “Literally, I guess. This is the view from my bed.”

  
Victor’s chest ached with happiness. Obviously, Yuuri left the pictures up after Sochi. He hadn’t started throwing darts at them. He might be ignoring Victor’s calls most of the time, but evidently not out of anything so simple or final as dislike.

  
“Huh. I never thought I’d be jealous of poster-me.” Victor mused.

  
“Silly.” Yuuri giggled. “Poster you isn’t cuddly at all.”

  
Victor groaned. He really wanted a fifth consecutive World Championship gold medal to match the set from the Grand Prix series. Even so, he was sorely tempted to book a flight to Detroit this moment because _Yuuri_.

  
A few hours later,Victor found more photos of Yuuri from that night on Phichit’s Instagram, but he couldn’t coax the Thai skater into sending him any of the more risqué shots he had to have taken.

  
Days past, and Yuuri himself acted like that call had never happened no matter what Victor did. Victor even spent god knew how much money having every Yuuri Katsuki item he could find overnighted from Japan. He could barely contain his delight when he received a huge pillow with Yuuri’s likeness. He texted Yuuri a photo of himself, cuddling the pillow, in front of a wall of Yuuri Katuski posters with a caption that said, “cuddly, but I want the real thing.” Yuuri didn’t respond to that or any of Victor’s contact attempts for the next three days.  
  
Victor supposed it all helped him to pour his heart out in competition at Eiropean Championships. The change in tone was apparently noticeable, and his choice to choreograph a gala routine to Mika’s “Origin of Love” might have been less than subtle. Predictably, more than one reporter asked him “What prompted the change? Is there someone special?” Victor gave his best enigmatic smile and half a nod before changing the subject.

  
“So,” Victor said, heart beating just a little too fast as soon as Yuuri actually answered his call, “did you like the new routine?”

  
“Of course I did.” Yuuri’s tone was breathless and worshipful in a way that Victor sure as hell didn’t deserve. “Everything you do is perfect.”

  
“Did I get my feelings across?” Victor asked unable to help the soft lilt to his voice. God, he sounded like a love-struck idiot.

  
“What? Oh.” Yuuri sounded frazzled. “Yeah, I guess you’re really smitten with this ‘someone special’. Hah. You’ll surprise everyone again if you actually settle down.” Victor couldn’t quite place the emotion in Yuuri’s voice. He sounded strained, though.

  
“I am.” Victor said, tone even softer now. “I won’t be making any official announcements for a while, but we’re going to move in together after Worlds.”

  
“Oh. I wish you the best.” Yuuri was just a little too cheerful. “Well, I’m sure you have things to do. The new routine is beautiful as ever.”

  
Victor sent Yuuri a _wish you were here_ text from the banquet.

  
 _You just feel lonely without your ‘special someone_ ’ Yuuri responded.

  
 _Desperately_ Victor replied.

  
 _Well, then you should probably have invited that person to be your date_. Oh. Was Yuuri mad that Victor hadn’t invited him? He’d considered it, but he didn’t want Yuuri to feel pressured to leave his own training. Victor was a little confused by all this use of the third person, but he’d gathered from Phichit that sober Yuuri could be painfully shy. Maybe this was easier for him.

 _I don’t want to get in the way of his work._ He sent back.

  
Yuuri didn’t respond to that. This banquet was so much less interesting than Socchi. Victor excused himself as early as he could get away with it.

  
//

  
“You’re already packing it up?” Phichit asked, as Yuuri carefully tucked his bronze medal into a shipping box. Yuuri shrugged.

  
“Makes my mom happy.” He answered. He didn’t add that he’d start second guessing whether he really deserved any measure of success he’d earned if he had to stare at his medals on his own wall. Yuuri’s third place finish had been distant, almost not worth mentioning compared to the flashy, exceptionally athletic performances JJ and Cao Bin had delivered. Of course, they had to give out a bronze medal, and Yuuri had scored well enough to edge out Otabek Altin. Better to keep his skating paraphernalia to photos of Victor. The extent of his comparative inferiority was a familiar, comfortable thing, and he could never get tired of looking at the man.   
Yuuri’s phone buzzed and he sighed. Victor, for his part, apparently still hadn’t tired of texting or calling nigh on constantly.

  
“Congratulations, Yuuri!” Victor’s cheerful voice rang out as soon as Yuuri accepted the call.

  
“Thank you.” Yuuri answered, tone exactly like it might be for a media appearance. The pause after went on too long, and Yuuri cursed himself for being so damned awkward all the time.

  
Makkachin rescued them both, barking so loud, she must have been right next to Victor’s face. “Makka says congratulations, too.” Victor laughed, then he said, apparently to the dog, “Makkachin, this is my pirozhki. Go eat yours.” Then, to Yuuri, Victor said, “The vet gave me such a long lecture about feeding her people food, but I found a woman who works as a personal chef specifically for dogs. Isn’t that great? Now I can still give Makka treats, but it’s healthy for her.”

  
Yuuri made a noncommittal noise. He found Victor’s care for his dog entirely charming, he always had. Still, he’d had to actively restrain Vicchan from eating his own poop on enough occasions that the whole idea of hiring a professional chef to make dog treats seemed beyond wasteful.

  
Phichit burst into their shared hotel room with a multitude of shopping bags and leaned into the phone “Hi Victor!”

  
“How did you know I was talking to Victor?” Yuuri hissed. “If Minako finds out she’ll-“

  
“Never mind about that” Phichit said, deftly taking the phone from Yuuri’s hand. “Your ‘Victor Nikiforov is talking to me’ expression is completely obvious to me. Also, speaking of Minako, you have to wear this to Otabek’s thing tonight. Ballet mom’s orders.” He thrust a large blue shopping bag toward Yuuri. Into the phone he said, “I’m not going to show you the outfit we got him for the club tonight. You’d cry for sure, because even if you got on a plane right now, you still wouldn’t make it on time.” He giggled with wicked glee “You’ll just have to stalk my Instagram like the rest of the world, sweetie pie.” Yuuri scrubbed a hand across his face.

Phichit did not just call Victor Nikiforv “sweetie pie.” Yuuri was going to die. He darted out a hand, trying to be quick about getting his phone back, but Phichit scampered around Yuuri’s hotel bed and up and over his own. He was still backing away when Yuuri jumped, pinning him bodily and using his greater height to reach the phone that Phichit held out behind himself on the edge of the bed. “Ignore him.” Yuuri gasped into the phone. “Hang on.” He tossed the phone behind him and trapped Phichit’s hands beneath his knees before leaning in to mercilessly tickle his roommate. Phichit bucked and tried to force Yuuri off, but Yuuri was bigger stronger and had long years of Mari’s merciless attention for training. Phichit was an only child. “Stop! Stop!” Phichit wheezed, barely able to get the breath to speak.

  
“Be good.” Yuuri gave Phichit a pointed look, picked up his phone, and retreated to his own bed. To Victor he said, “Hello?”

  
“Yuuri?”

  
“Victor, you’re still there?” Yuuri was surprised, then horrified. “I’m so, so sorry! I know your time is valuable. I’m really sorry.”

  
“It’s okay, Yuuri.” Victor’s voice was light, and he laughed a little, but Yuuri thought it might sound kind of hollow. “Are you sure you there’s nothing going on with you and Phichit?”

  
Where the hell had that come from. “Who told you that?” Yuuri asked before he could stop himself. That was as good as corroboration.

  
“Well, I asked Phichit if you two were dating and he said you weren’t.”

  
“Of course we’re not dating. It’s Phichit.” Yuuri said. He couldn’t see himself dating Phichit. Not in a million, billion years. “He’s my best friend.” Yuuri said, helpless in the face of his earlier admission.

  
“With benefits.” Was Victor annoyed? 

  
“Th-that’s probably over stating things.” Yuuri squeaked, knowing his face was bright red. “I mean, not really on a regular basis.” He caught himself before he could stick his foot further into his mouth. “No further comment.”

  
“But why?” Victor sounded plaintive. “We should talk about these things. My first lover was-“

  
“No! No, stop!” Yuuri cut him off. “I really don’t need to know. Thank you for calling to congratulate me. I should probably go get ready to go out now.” And he hung up before Victor could get further down that track.

  
//

  
Victor hadn’t spoken to Yuuri since right after Four Continents. He’d tried, but he hadn’t gotten anywhere. At least he still answered texts sometimes, but never with much information. And that traitorous little shit Phichit had plastered his social media feeds with Yuuri at a club looking good enough to eat in tight denim and a shirt that revealed the gorgeous curve of his collar bone. It wasn’t anything too extreme, but if the suit Victor had trashed gave any indication of Yuuri’s normal dress sense, maybe it was a bit more revealing than Yuuri would have chosen for himself. Victor realized he was being rather uncharitable. Phichit had been nothing but supportive and Victor, much to his dismay, had no right to any opinion over who Yuuri chose to sleep with.

  
Victor had spent an awful lot of time in the hotel bar, peering out towards the lobby in hopes that he might spot Yuuri. No luck so far, though he was interrupted often enough by fans that he couldn’t be sure he hadn’t missed him. He’d finally made up his mind to call it a night when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Victor.” Celestino’s voice sounded more like a warning than a greeting, but Victor smiled anyhow. Celestino could get him to Yuuri.

  
“Ciao, Celestino.” Victor said. “Drink?”

  
“Laphroaig 18, please.” Celestino said to the waiting bartender. Victor nodded amiably, glad for all the press training he’d had, even while he wondered why anyone would voluntarily drink something that tastes like a peat bog on fire.

  
“I haven’t been able to get in touch with Yuuri.” He said. “Can you tell him I’m looking for him.” His face fell when Celestino barked out a quick laugh and shook his head.

  
“I know,” The coach said, “You’ve been blowing up his phone.” He pulled a smart phone in case covered in poodles from his breast pocket and showed Victor the screen, detailing all his own missed calls and texts before pocketing it again. “Yuuri’s mental state before competition is delicate, more than other skaters. Last time I let him keep his phone, his sister called and told him his dog died right before the free skate.” Clearly, Celestino thought she should have waited. Maybe he was right, but if something happened to Makka, Victor would want to know, competition be damned. “And he’s already wound up without you messing with his head.”

  
Victor felt affronted at that. “I would never!”

  
“No, no.” Celestino clarified, “I wasn’t implying sabotage, but I don’t think you understand how Yuuri can be. Talk to him after.” After a pause he added, “And if you really are going to come play coach in Detroit, I can’t stop you, but I’m not going away, either. Yuuri’s come too far to get thrown off track just because you’ve got a new infatuation. The way he pulled through at nationals was already a miracle, given his headspace at the time.”

He signed his bar receipt, waving off Victor’s attempt to treat him, and stood. “I mean it. No contact until he’s done skating. I’ll tell him you wish him luck.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in this universe, maybe the knowledge that Victor wants to see him at world's keeps Yuuri from bombing nationals. More to come!


	4. Chapter 4

Yuuri’s chest heaved. He couldn’t help smiling. He’d skated his free program like he’d always felt it was meant to be skated. Celestino looked ecstatic as he handed Yuuri his water bottle and shepherded him to the kiss and cry. “That was perfect, Yuuri. I knew you could do it!” Celestino hugged him tight when his scores were announced. 208.72. A new personal best. Second place so far, though the remaining skaters had programs technically difficult enough that Yuuri almost certainly wouldn’t medal. Still, he’d definitely made it into the top ten. The JSF would be pleased.

After his cool down, Celestino handed back Yuuri’s glasses and finally relinquished his phone. They settled into the stands in time to see the final two skaters of the event. Otabek Altin and, of course, Victor. 

“Yuuri! You did great.” Phichit stopped leaning in to hug Yuuri, a shocked expression on his face. 

The Junior World Champion leaned over Yuuri’s seat from the back. “Hey, loser Yuuri. You didn’t suck today, but I’m still going to kick your ass next year, okay?” Seriously, what was wrong with that kid?

“We’ll see.” Was all Yuuri said, flashing Yuri Plisetsky a small smile.

“He’s still glaring at you,” Phichit whispered a few moments later. “Scary.”

“Apparently I’m like his nemesis or something since we have the same name.” Yuuri murmured, maybe not as quietly as he’d thought based on the jarring kick to the back of his seat. Then he turned back to the rink. “Shh.” He waved a hand at Phichit as Victor skated out to the center of the ice, looking every inch the fairy tale prince.

Yuuri’s heart did a funny little dance in his chest. Victor Nikiforov looked right at him and then he skated, incomparable as always, but this routine, the moves hadn’t changed much since Sochi, but the feeling seemed different. Victor was skating a bit more like he had at European Championships, but he was reaching out, right at Yuuri, and silly as it was, he couldn’t help but feel like Victor was skating a love song for him and him alone. Of course, with Victor’s talent, he’d be making every single person in the audience feel that way. Yuuri dared to hope that he might be that good one day, and immediately felt blasphemous for even thinking such a thing.

  
//

  
Victor schooled his expression more fiercely than he’d had to in a long time. His every muscle vibrated with impatience, and Yakov’s hidden death grip on the back of his jacket dashed any hope of escape.

He could hardly see anything past the reporters and fans crowded around him. He’d lost track of Yuuri halfway through the medal ceremony, and Yakov had confiscated his phone. As soon as there was a break in the barrage, he cornered Yura. “I need your phone.” He said. 

Yura rolled his eyes but handed it over. His expression changed to one of astonishment as Victor dialed. “You actually know someone’s phone number?” 

Victor beamed. 

“Let me guess.” Yura growled, “Yuuri Katsuki.”

“Hello?” Yuuri picked up, surprisingly quickly. Maybe it was Victor’s number he specifically avoided. Victor hoped not. That would definitely be a bad sign.

“Yuuri!” Victor knew he should probably restrain his enthusiasm a little, but it didn’t seem to be working.

“I have a press conference and then I’m free for the rest of the day. Can I take you to dinner?”

“I, um, sort of have plans already. My ballet instructor and my childhood friend are here since we’re in Tokyo and all.” Yuuri sounded like he might regret that a little bit. After a long pause, he spoke up again, sounding very tentative, “If you wouldn’t mind, and don’t feel like you have to, but you could come along. Phichit and Celestino will be there.”

“I’d love to!” Victor said immediately. 

“Really?” Yuuri asked, voice tinged with what sounded like disbelief. “Because Minako and Yuuko will probably be in full on fangirl mode the whole time.”

“It’s fine.” Victor was plenty used to that. “I want to know the people who are important to you.”

  
//

  
“Oh my god, it’s Victor!” Yuuko said directly into Yuuri’s ear, just a little too loud. He glanced up and as soon as Victor spotted them, he pocketed his phone and strode over. Yuuko looked like she might be making a sound so high pitched only dogs could hear it. She was gripping his arm so hard he was almost guaranteed to have bruises.

“Yuuri!” Victor had that smile, the one that Yuuri didn’t usually see in photos, and then, inexplicably, he was being hugged. Yuuri froze, unable to process exactly what was happening. The look Yuuko gave him promised there would be hell to pay for not telling her that he was on hugging terms with Victor Nikiforov. Of course, he hadn’t really known about that. Sure, they had been talking. Victor had taken some kind of bizarre interest in Yuuri, and it’s not like he was going to complain or anything, but expecting it to be real, well, that could only be a setup for the kind of disappointment Yuuri wasn’t sure he could handle right now. “Um, h-hi Victor,” Yuuri’s voice was unsteady. He had to calm down a little. Yuuri took a deep slow breath. Damn, Victor smelled so good. Even more surreal, it reminded Yuuri of laying against Victor’s chest in a Sochi hotel bed. Okay, he had to stop being awkward and say something, but when he opened his mouth, all that came out was, “You smell good.” God, he was an idiot. He wanted to die.

“Thank you.” Victor said, all cheer and grace as he stepped back and turned to extend a hand to Yuuko.

“You must be Yuuri’s friend Yuuko. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Victor.” Yuuko was apparently faring even worse than Yuuri. She had a dazed expression and couldn’t manage more than a brief nod as Victor grasped her hand gently.

“Oh, my god! Yuuri!” Minako rushed up and slapped him on the shoulder. “You’re hanging out with Victor now? You really made it to the big leagues this year, huh?” 

“You must be Minako!” Victor’s smile was brilliant. Had he done any toothpaste commercials? He should do toothpaste commercials. “You’ve taught Yuuri so well. I could watch him dance forever. I’m Victor.” 

“Yes, I know!” Minako was gushing as she shook Victor’s hand.

There was a long, awkward pause before Yuuri realized he probably should say something to all of them. “Um, I invited Victor to have dinner with us. I hope you don’t mind.” 

“Of course we don’t mind!” Yuuko and Minako said in unison. A few moments later, Minako pulled Yuuri aside and hissed in his ear, “Call the restaurant and tell them to expect one more.” Oh right. Yuuri looked at Minako with bare panic for a moment. He wanted to say, “can’t you?” But she’d make him do it, and there was no way Victor could find out that he was too nervous to even call about their reservation. With a shaking hand he dialed and spoke with someone who told him that of course they’d be able to accommodate another guest with his party, the banquet room could accommodate up to eight. He exhaled and let his heartrate slow, phone call complete. The evening hadn’t even begun, and just that had left Yuuri feeling exhausted. It hadn’t even been bad, he’d known, rationally that it would be easy. Try telling that to his anxiety, though.

“I hope you like Japanese food. You’re in for a real treat.” Minako was saying to Victor. “I called ages ago, back when Yuuri won nationals, and I couldn’t get a reservation at Kanda. I had to bribe Yuuri into talking to them, and just like that” she snapped her fingers, “we were in.”

Victor was nodding, “Yes, well, they call Yuuri Japan’s ace, no? It’s the same for me in Russia.” He said it like they were on the same level. Yuuri couldn’t hold back a bark of laughter. God, he probably sounded unhinged. He tried to cover it with a quick cough. Minako waved down a cab and Victor graciously held the door to the passenger seat open for her. “I haven’t really had much Japanese food besides Sushi. But I like anything good.”

“You definitely won’t be disappointed.” Yuuri said. “Yuuko, do you mind sitting in the middle?” he asked, it made sense, since she was smallest. Also, she’d probably faint with Victor pressed up against her side. Yuuri knew he would have.

“Sure!” She said, clapping her hands. She slipped into the backseat and settled beside Victor. Yuuri slipped in after her, behind Minako. “Oh, this is the best trip!” Yuuko said. “Two whole days in a hotel alone and now I’m sitting between you two.” She sighed and leaned back against the seat.

“You’re not alone, though.” Yuuri said, confused.

“You’re sharing a room with Minako, aren’t you?”

“I mean without kids or my husband.” Yuuko said. “I took naps every day. No one needed me to do anything, there was no screaming, no fights or mischief to break up. I got a pedicure and drank mimosas at breakfast.” She turned to Victor. “I have six year old triplets and my husband I both work. I’ve never gotten to relax for this long. Ever. Even on vacations, I’ve always had the kids with me.”

“That sounds exhausting.” Victor said, voice full of empathy, “What do you do?” 

“Oh, my husband and I run the ice rink in Hasetsu. Yuuri trained there before he went abroad. Actually we trained together, not that I was ever anything too special. I competed locally, nationally a few times, but Yuuri was always the talented one. Then I got pregnant with my girls and that was that.”

“Do they skate?” Victor asked?

“They’re learning, yeah. They’re convinced that if they get good enough, maybe Yuuri will coach them when they’re old enough for juniors.” 

“When they’re old enough for juniors, they’ll realize no one in their right mind would want me for a coach.” Yuuri muttered, face burning. 

“Oh I don’t, know.” Yuuko said. “You helped me a lot when we were kids, even though you were younger than me. Though I should probably thank you, too, Victor.”

“Oh?”

“Yuuri and I were such big fans of yours when we were kids. We used to copy your routines.” Yuuri threw a look at Yuuko, but she gave no indication that she knew was destroying him with every word she said. 

“Really?” Victor asked, smile bright and impossibly heart shaped. “Yuuri, do you know any of my newer routines?” Why did he sound so excited. He should be pissed off.

“Uh.” Yuuri scratched the back of his head. “Yeah. I like to have something different to practice sometimes.”

Victor clapped his hands and looked like a child who’d just been promised ice cream. “what have you been working on?” 

“Ah.” Yuuri was really way too sober for this conversation. “Umm. . . I can do your free skate from this season, mostly. I downgraded two of the quads.”

At that, Victor’s expression soured. “Your coach is doing you a disservice, Yuuri. The way you skate, you create music all your own. If you can handle that level of choreography, why is your routine so safe?” Victor still looked offended, but not, apparently, for the reason Yuuri had initially thought. “Well, I’ll make you a better program for next year.”

“Hold on.” Minako interjected, suddenly stern, turning around to look at Yuuri. “When we were watching the press conference, and Victor said he was taking next season off to coach Yuuri, you let me think he was talking about Yuri Plisetsky!”

“Yuuri, you didn’t tell them?” Victor asked. He looked . . .hurt?

Yuuri had actively and aggressively put the idea of Victor coaching him out of his mind. He knew it was unlikely to happen in reality, and he couldn’t let himself think it might. He would go insane. Victor made it kind of hard on him though, bringing it up all the time. And now this.

When Yuuri didn’t respond Victor’s face fell. Finally, he said “I of all people should know better than to ruin a surprise. Sorry.”

  
//

  
Victor held the car door for the ladies as they departed the cab. Phichit and Celestino were approaching from a little ways down the block, the Thai skater waving brightly to Yuuri. The restaurant was small and while quite elegant, felt refreshingly low key and sedate. Usually places as difficult to book as Kanda tried harder to be grand or trendy. Instead, he felt like he’d stumbled on an unassuming, hidden jewel. Kind of like Yuuri himself, Victor supposed.

In fluent, if heavily accented, English the waiter explained the few menu options which were more or less just price points, apparently. “Top of the line everything. With whatever drink pairings the chef recommends, please.” Victor said.

“Victor!” Yuuri interrupted. “That’s really too-“ 

“What are you talking about Yuuri? I want the full experience. I’m happy to treat you all.”

“That’s really too generous.” Yuuri said, and he looked genuinely upset. 

Victor waved a dismissive hand at Yuuri and nodded to the waiter “Everything top of the line, please.”  
A chorus of “thank you’s” flashed around him and Victor nodded, then turned his attention back to Yuuri, who still seemed a bit perturbed. Victor pouted and he could see Yuuri’s expression soften a little. It was a face that even worked on Yakov, after all. Yuuri shook his head, but when the waiter returned with Sake, Yuuri accepted the cup Victor offered him. 

“Congratulations on a strong season boys!” Celestino raised his glass after everyone had been served, and the others raised their glasses and then responded with toasts of their own.

After a moment, Minako said, “I have a feeling those of us back home may have missed some things. How did you two meet?” She asked, glancing significantly between Victor and Yuuri.

“At Sochi.” Yuuri said, a flush creeping up his neck.

“I’m sensing omitted details.” Minako said. Yuuko giggled. 

“Minako, hush.” Yuuri sounded a little bit desperate.  
Paying no mind, Victor said, “I saw Yuuri and asked if he wanted a photo together after the free skate.” Victor said, “he totally rejected me.” 

He ignored Yuuko’s disbelieving shriek of “Yuuri!”

“And then at the banquet, he drank an impressive quantity of champagne, and turned the most boring night of the year into the best party of my life.”

“Oh. Yuuri’s a true Kyushu man, just like his father.” Minako was chuckling wickedly now. “I think I see where this is going.”

“I couldn’t have been that wild.” Yuuri said. “Coach, you didn’t say anything about it.”

Celestino rolled his eyes but remained silent. Phichit just started laughing. “I love party Yuuri.” He said amiably. 

“I don’t remember any of it.”

“Victor can fill us in.” Yuuko said. 

Victor was already pulling up the Sochi banquet gallery on his phone. “Yuuri challenged Yuri Plisetsky to a dance battle and wiped the floor with him.”

Minako, Phichit and Yuuko were all crowded around peering at the photos. “And Chris managed to convince him to do the next dance-off on the pole. Then he challenged me and asked me to coach him if he won. And here we are.” Victor said. 

“I have no idea why or how, since I clearly acted like an idiot.” Yuuri muttered, face buried in his hands. “But Victor is leaving out the part where he took care of my drunk ass, told me I had horrible fashion sense, and then somehow decided he wanted to keep talking to me.” Yuuri’s look was indecipherable. “You didn’t even get mad about me using your toothbrush after I was sick.”

Ew. “You what?” Victor asked. 

“Oh god! I forgot to tell you.” Yuuri looked like he was starting to hyperventilate. “I’m so so so sorry!”

Okay, that was a little gross, but Victor laughed. “Isn’t that called an ‘indirect kiss’? I saw it in a cartoon.”

Yuuri made a disgusted face and shook his head.  
The waiter returned with their first course, though and the discussion turned to the food. Victor tried a delicate looking morsel of vegetable and some kind of fish. “Wow!” He said. “This is amazing! Here, Yuuri, you have to try this.” He held out a bite for Yuuri who hesitated just a moment before leaning and eating the offered food from Victor’s chopsticks. The sound he made was positively sinful. Victor spared a wink for Yuuko. “Okay, so that was, though, right?”

“What?”

“An indirect kiss. I just said it two minutes ago.”

“Definitely!” Phichit proclaimed.

The rest of the evening passed in a whirl of good company, amazing food, and top notch wine. Yuuri’s group, his skating family from two different rinks on two different continents, felt warm and intimate. Victor didn’t really have that with his teammates in Russia. They were a family, of sorts, too, but a loud, competitive, semi-functional one at best. This felt . . . nice. Victor wanted to be part of it.

They weren’t all going to fit in one cab back to the hotel, but before they could talk about splitting up, Yuuri said, “It’s such a beautiful night. I think I want to walk back.”

“I’ll join you.” Victor said, immediately. 

As they walked side by side, both full and mildly fuzzy with alcohol, Victor asked the thing that had been bothering him ever since he saw the Minako and Yuuri’s familiar interactions.

“You and Minako seem close.” Victor said. His legs ached. How did Yuuri have this kind of energy after competing?

“Yeah,” Yuuri answered “I think I’ve spent more time in her ballet studio that in my own home. She’s the one who suggested I try skating.”

“Are you lovers?”

“Huh? No!” Yuuri’s face scrunched up adorably and he looked desperate to change the topic.

“We should talk about our pasts, Yuuri. I want to know everything about you.”

“I’d rather not.” Yuuri said quickly. 

Victor might have pressed the issue, but a limousine pulled up, disgorging a group of stunningly dressed young people who filed into an imposing building nearby. Wait, just inside the door, standing a little ways past the bouncer with a cigarette in hand, was a familiar figure. “It’s Mila.” He commented. 

Yuuri waved as Mila spotted them and slipped out the door to light her cigarette and take a drag. Fitting, Victor supposed, it was something he’d only ever seen her do once or twice in the context of post-season clubbing. “Here to join us?” Mila asked. “They don’t have poles, but you can dance in a cage, if you want.” 

Yuuri had looked like he might be considering the party, but he shook his head at that and Victor breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t want to try to keep up with Yuuri all night, tired as he already was. The days when he could skate all day and then party all night were long gone, even if there was a one day break before the gala exhibition. 

As they made their way back to the hotel, Victor let his hand brush against Yuuri’s in invitation, but Yuuri didn’t seem to notice. All too soon, they were in the hotel lobby, Yuuri stepped back. This was going to be goodnight, unless Victor could think of a way to extend their evening. Then he had it. 

“Yuuri!” He said, “Lets’ have a slumber party. We should really get to know each other, don’t you think?”

“Um-“ Before Yuuri could decline, Victor slung an arm around his shoulders and ushered him into the elevator. Yuuri seemed hesitant, but he didn’t say no.

As soon as the door to Victor’s suite closed behind them, he wrapped both his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders and clung to him, breathing in the scent of hotel shampoo on his hair. “I missed you so much.” He murmured. “I’ve been looking forward to this since the Grand Prix Final.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” Victor said. In his fragmented text message conversations and their few phone calls over the past months, Victor had come to know that Yuuri truly had no idea how amazing he was. Modesty was fine, to a point, Victor supposed, but Yuuri’s cluelessness went beyond all reason. “Drink?” He asked, pouring himself a drink of a Japanese Scotch gifted to him by a fan.

Yuuri narrowed his eyes. “Maybe I shouldn’t. You’ve seen how I can get. I’m still a little buzzed from dinner.” 

“I wouldn’t mind at all.” Victor said, “Up to you.” 

“I guess one more wouldn’t hurt.” Yuuri took the glass Victor offered and raised it with a small smile on his lips. 

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Victor asked. 

“Anything but The King and Skater.” Yuuri said. 

“Never seen it.” Victor said.

“Well, I’ll let Phichit pop your cherry on that one.” Yuuri chuckled and Victor felt a small thrill. A moment later, he suddenly said, “We should watch ‘Castaway on the Moon’. Do you have a laptop?”   
Victor pulled his computr out of his suitcase and set it up.

  
//

  
Yuuri watched Victor watching the film, he’d seen this movie a few times. It was a love story between a lost and lonely suicidal man and an agoraphobic, but it was laugh out loud funny without losing the ability to move Yuuri to tears. Yuuri loved the film. Victor’s reaction to it was important in a way Yuuri hadn’t quite expected when he’d made the suggestion. He found himself holding his breath eyeing Victor and trying not to be too obvious about it, hoping the scenes he found poignant resonated with Victor, too.

Yuuri didn’t have to wait long. As the protagonist saw himself struggling, being berated and reminded of his failures by everyone in his life, tears beaded on Victor’s eyelashes like jewels. Overwhelmed by relief, finally able to relax into the hum of alcohol fuzzing his normally too prominent nerves, Yuuri gently reached out a trembling hand and brushed the teardrops from Victor’s face. Victor looked at him, startled. He smiled a little and puled Yuuri flush against his side before turning back to the screen.

Yuuri’s neck hurt from keeping an awkward angle, but it was worth it. Victor’s expressions were mobile and unguarded, childlike in a way made Yuuri that maybe Victor was fundamentally at odds with the cool flawlessness of his public persona. Yuuri could watch him forever. 

Yuuri only realized the film was over because Victor turned to meet his gaze, eyes widening a little to find Yuuri looking at him so intently. Victor’s surprise seemed to fade quickly, replaced by another expression Yuuri didn’t think he’d ever seen before, all softness and half lidded eyes.

Victor’s gaze flicked down for a second, to Yuuri’s mouth, which felt suddenly too dry. When Victor looked up again, he licked his own lips and Yuuri shuddered. Wanting to kiss Victor Nikiforov was nothing new, of course, not really. But it had always been a non-specific wanting, a desire for the abstract state of kissing Victor, doing many things with Victor, really. He’d never clearly envisioned a scenario like this. He felt unprepared, frozen, and for a long moment he sat stupidly, unable to act.

Moving away, making some excuse and leaving the bed seemed impossible, and maybe it was the residual buzz from earlier in the evening, but Yuuri couldn’t think of a reason not to lean forward and brush his lips against Victor’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Your comments, kudos, and bookmarksgive keep me going. I'm really excited to get our boys to Detroit. It's going to be a blast.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much just smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, finally earning the E rating. No beta as usual, but I do try to keep the errors to a minimum.

Victor thought maybe he hadn’t ever wanted anything quite as much as he wanted Yuuri Katsuki to kiss him in that moment, and then it happened, so quick he could have almost missed it. A brush of warm lips against his, gentle and quick. He felt torn between elation and nostalgia, already reliving the ephemeral touch in his imagination. He felt tears beading on his lashes for the second time that night and a grin pulling his cheeks almost painfully.

He met Yuuri’s eyes only to see them wide and terrified? Not good. “Yuuri-“

"I’m sorry!” Yuuri scrambled backward off the bed and landed inelegantly on the hotel room floor. “I’m so, so sorry. Oh god, you’re crying! It was that bad? Sorry, sorry, sorry. I’ll just go.”

Victor launched himself off the bed, and somehow managed to position himself in front of the door before Yuuri got to it. “Yuuri.” Victor winced internally at his tone, his desperation for Yuuri to listen to him came out stern.  
  
//  
  
Yuuri flinched at the harshness in Victor’s words. The last vestiges of fuzzy warmth fled him at that, and he cursed himself bitterly. He shouldn’t have done that. Being here, like this, in Victor’s hotel room might seem like a dream come true, but Victor obviously didn’t want to know exactly what kind of dreams Yuuri entertained him in. And now he was blocking the door. God only knew why.

Yuuri’s eyes burned. He might be humiliated, but damned if he was going to cry until he got to his own room. “Please, I ruined everything. It’s fine. I’ll just go.”

“Yuuri.” Victor’s tone was softer now, and his fingers found an iron grip on Yuuri’s jaw, lifting Yuuri’s face so that their eyes met. “Why do you think that?”

“I kissed you.” Yuuri said, know it sounded dumb. “I kissed you and you cried.”

Victor let loose a sigh, and before Yuuri realized what was happening, Victor had ensconced him in a crushing hug. “Yuuri. Yuuri. Yuuri” Victor was saying his name over and over again with his face buried in Yuuri’s hair. “I’m happy, okay.”

Yuuri couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. “I’ve watched you win more than twenty gold medals, Victor. I’ve never once seen you cry happy.”

“Yes. Wow. Yes.” Victor gripped Yuuri’s shoulders and held him away, looking at him with a big, watery smile.

“You really aren’t mad?”

“Why would I be mad? I’ve been dying to kiss you since Sochi.” Victor said, “I’ve been suffering.” He flipped his hair dramatically and Yuuri laughed.

Victor had apparently gone insane, but Yuuri hadn’t gotten to the place he was now by ignoring opportunities. He could have a panic attack about this later, it was an absolute miracle he want having one now.

 “I’m going to do it again.” He said, and then he did, deeper this time, with more intent. He pulled Victor to him so that he could feel the press of the long, hard planes of his body.

“Yuuri, you can do whatever you want.”

 Victor’s voice was shaky and Yuuri stored it away for later, so that when this ended he could turn the memory over and over, rubbing at it until it was smooth as a river stone.

Victor couldn’t possibly know what he was saying. Yuuri knew he should hold back until he was sure about what Victor meant. Not possible. Victor’s words had broken a dam, and Yuuri’s better judgement crumbled under the rush of eleven years’ pent up desire.

He carded one hand through the soft silver hair at the nape of Victor’s neck until he got enough to grab onto and steered Victor back to the middle of the room. He felt high, every muscle buzzing with frenetic energy. It was something like what he felt after five or six strong drinks, but his mind was clear. Vaguely, he wondered how much better he could skate if he went onto the ice feeling this way instead of wracked with anxiety. The thought didn’t send him spiraling, somehow.

He looked Victor over, hair disheveled, mouth pink and swollen from their kisses. He’d taken off his jacket and tie earlier, and his button down and slacks were a little rumpled from lying down to watch the movie.

Here, in this room, Victor wasn’t the living legend, prince of the ice, he’d suddenly become touchable and Yuuri wanted to touch. He reached out and undid the top button of Victor’s shirt, hands surprisingly steady despite the frenetic jumble of his thoughts. He undid another button, then two more. Victor’s shirt was open to the middle of his chest, revealing skin almost as white as the fabric gaping away from it. Entranced, Yuuri brushed the back of a knuckle over Victor’s collar bone. Victor’s sharp gasp tore through some of whatever altered state he was in and he looked away from where his hand was to Victor’s face.

His expression was easy, calm, like he was just waiting to see what Yuuri would do next, but when Yuuri met his eyes, their impossible, electric blue was condensed to a narrow band around wide pupils. “Is this okay?” Yuuri asked. His intent, at this point, had to be clear enough, right?

“Yes,” Victor said , voice breathy and smile soft and wide, “I’m all yours.”

At that, Yuuri’s hesitation evaporated. He wasn’t thinking any more. He opened the rest of Victor’s shirt and let his fingertips run the length of Victor’s body, from the rabbit quick pulse at his throat over his broad chest and down the ridges of his abdomen. He was as good to touch as to look at, not that Yuuri had expected anything else. He slipped his hands up to Victor’s shoulders underneath the fabric and Victor easily shrugged it off. He cocked his head and posed, just a little, seeming pleased enough to be unwrapped like the gift he was.

Yuuri made quick work of Victor’s belt and fly, until Victor stepped forward out of his puddled clothing in just a pair of tight black briefs. Yuuri circled him and ran an appreciative palm over the curve of his hip, fascinated by a huge yellowish bruise on Victor's upper thigh, so like the ones Yuuri sported all too frequently. Huh. Yuuri poked Victor right in the center of the contusion and Victor yelped. "I'm surprised you have a bruise like this." Yuuri said. Stupid. Stupid. Of course Victor had bruises. All skaters had these bruises sometimes. He wasn't a photograph come to life, wasn't a made of marble and animated by pure perfection, as much as that had always been Yuuri's image of him. This was real. Fuck. This was real. Yuuri had just undressed Victor Nikiforov, had prodded an injury, had -

Victor chuckled awkwardly. "The quad loop and I don't get along as well as I'd like, okay?"  
Yuuri nodded, all the confidence brought on by drink and infatuation suddenly driven out of him by realization that Victor was breakable, was a real person. Victor missed jumps sometimes. Victor could be hurt. What were they _doing?_

//  
  
Victor had been enjoying himself immensely. He loved be looked at, inspected and found satisfactory. Not that he’d ever had a lover with complaints. Not about his body, anyway. Still, this was a kink he’d never quite actualized so well. How many times over the years had he presented himself, posed and glorious, asked “look at me.” He’d never had someone answer even a direct request quite in the way he craved. Yuuri seemed to do it instinctively, taking his time, inspecting Victor with an air of equal parts adoration and evaluation.

Now Yuuri's face was turned away and Victor worried he might run again.Victor was at a loss. He had to know what Yuuri wanted, or he'd do something wrong, miss a beat in the story, say the wrong line, and this moment they'd inhabited together, already hanging tenuously, would fall and shatter. "What do you want me to be for you, Yuuri?" He asked. 

Yuuri hesitated, so Victor prompted him. "Do you want me to be your daddy? I could take care of all your needs for as long as you'd like" Victor gave his signature wink.

"No."

Okay. Something else then. "Your slave?" He dropped prettily to his knees and tucked his arms behind his back; he leaned his head against Yuuri's thigh.

Yuuri's eyebrows shot up and Victor thought he caught a spark of something in his expression. "No." He said, a little rushed and breathless.

Victor thought maybe he was getting closer. He rose elegantly to his feet and shucked his underwear. He turned away from Yuuri and collapsed onto his knees on the hotel bed, pressing his ass out and curving his spine in presentation. "Your slut?" He asked, touching his opening as he met Yuuri's eyes.

This wasn't working. Yuuri looked  entirely alarmed, and tomato red "Oh god, no."

Victor turned and lay artfully across a mound of pillows, one leg drawn up in casual display. "Your lover, then?" He asked "I'll try my best." 

Yuuri's expression changed, hardened. "No!" Yuuri almost yelled it, and Victor deflated. "I just want you to be yourself, Victor." It was simultaneously the most wonderful and most baffling thing anyone had ever said to him.

Marry me. Victor thought. "I won't let you go easily." He said, reaching out for Yuuri, who was still standing by the foot of the hotel bed. 

"Good." Yuuri climbed onto the bed and grasped Victor's hand in both of his.

They sat that way for a long beat, Yuuri's fingers curled around Victor's hand. Yuuri looked away from Victor's eyes and his gaze caught a little lower down. The moment shifted. Yuuri's teeth dug into his bottom lip and a flush bloomed on his cheeks again all the way up to the tips of his ears. Cautiously, like he thought Victor was going to break, he  slipped his hand from Victors grip and ran one gentle fingertip along the juncture between Victor's neck and his shoulder. Yuuri's touch grew firmer as he slid his palm along Victor's arm, and Victor was content to be touched and to watch Yuuri's face, all uncertainty and wonder while his hands roamed.

Victor relaxed,  content to let Yuuri explore him. What a beautiful study on contradiction Yuuri was.  He’d taken charge of Victor entirely, but he was all innocent curiosity and sexy as hell.  
  
//  
  
Yuuri moved his hands over Victor's body, fascinated by the feel of him. There was a book, actually a whole series, Yuuri had read once, because Victor had based a theme around it back when he was still in Juniors. In this one book, the characters were inside a perfectly normal home, until they were sucked into a painting of ship and found themselves amid the waves. Touching Victor felt a little like that, like he'd been looking at one of his posters too long and now here he was, at the outset of some great adventure, the safety of the ordinary world nowhere in sight.

Yuuri shook his head. Not the time for literary references.  Yuuri knew he was failing horribly at this. This wasn't a massage, he wasn't getting Victor off, he wasn't really doing much of anything, really. Yuuri had been semi-consciously avoiding Victor's groin area, but now he turned his attention there to find Victor surprisingly half hard. Yuuri hesitated. He could do this.

Yuuri let his hands drift to Victor's hips, the soft skin of his inner thighs and the smooth seam of his groin under Yuuri's hands felt beautiful. As beautiful as he'd always known it would.

Would Victor be revolted at his own hirsuteness? When was the last time he'd even trimmed? Yuuri couldn't precisely recall. This was all unexpected. Victor twitched and made a breathy noise. "Aren't you overdressed?" He asked, playfully.

"No." Yuuri said with finality. Could Victor read his mind or something? He broke eye contact. Yuuri still hadn't touched him, but now Victor was fully erect. Huh.

"I guess I'm at your mercy, then." The way Victor said that, the dazzling heart-shaped smile like it was Christmas morning . . . He'd said a few similar things before, too. Okay. Yuuri could do this. He could. He would. After another drink.

 He grabbed the Scotch they'd been drinking earlier and swigged straight from the bottle. Ciao Ciao would have been horrified. He had a thing about good liquor being in the proper glassware. Actually, that was an idea. 

When he turned back, Victor was relaxed on the bed, hands folded behind his head, watching Yuuri like he never wanted to be doing anything else. He hefted the bottle at an angle to telegraph his intention and Victor's smile widened.

 Yuuri crawled onto the bed and poured a trickle of the amber liquid up the center line of Victor's abs, following it with his lips and tongue. He did it once more, then set the bottle on the nightstand. Victor's torso was still beckoning and Yuuri went to work, repeating the exploration his hands had made with his mouth. He chuckled darkly.

"What's funny?" Victor asked, his voice a little rough.

"Just thinking I'd be a lot less bitchy about my diet if I could feast on you every day." Yuuri said.

"As your coach I'll--aah! Help you any way I can, Yuuri." Yuuri loved the way Victor said his name, like he was tongue-fucking the syllables.

After a while, Victor's moans shifted,  sounded more like whimpers. "Yuuri, yuuri please!" Oh. Right. He still hadn't even touched Victor's cock. He should probably fix that. He gave a single experimental stroke up and down, firm as he dared without any kind of lubricant. Victor's whole body jerked magnificently.

Yuuri stroked him again. The flush on Victor's face, his slightly dazed expression, the almost shy smile he flashed when Yuuri met his eyes, it was all too much. Yuuri looked away, focused on the steady, slow movement of his hand up and down Victor's shaft.

Yuuri twisted his grip a little on the next stroke and Victor muttered something in Russian. Yuuri did it again, and Victor groaned and squirmed, thrusting up into Yuuri's hand. He thumbed Victor's slit, collecting a few beads of fluid to help lubricate his quickening strokes. "Please!" Victor gasped, "Yuuri, please!"

Startled, Yuuri released Victor entirely. Yuuri didn't need to understand Russian to get the invectives. He almost apologized, but half a second later, Victor was looking at him with that delighted, goofy heart shaped smile again.

"You like that?" Yuuri said, more to himself than to Victor. It wasn't something he'd ever done with a partner, but on his own, Yuuri liked this, too, teetering right on the edge of release and then pulling back, only to do it again and again.

Victor looked apprehensive for a moment before he whispered "Yes."

"Well then, warn me when you're close." Yuuri said, and went back to work.

Victor's response to pleasure was as fascinating to watch as his skating. More so, even because Yuuri didn't have to share Victor with a crowd. Victor's breathing was quick now, dragging in and out in a series of ragged moans. His hands were clenched in Yuuri's sweater. "Yuuri!" Victor gasped, "Yuuri, I'm going to-"

Yuuri squeezed hard at the base of Victor's dick and pulled down on his balls. "Not yet." No big smile this time. Victor actually growled at Yuuri in frustration. This was fun. Yuuri counted off thirty long seconds in his mind before he loosened his grip and began jacking Victor again.

 The next time, Victor didn't warn him, but Yuuri was getting familiar with his particular signs now, and he managed to put a stop to things before they went too far. "Naughty." Yuuri said, grabbing hard at Victor's unbruised hip. "I was going to let you come next time, too."  
  
//  
  
Victor was going to die. He could see the tabloid headline, "Olympic athlete felled by competitor's sexual prowess." Yuuri had left off of the vice grip he'd been using to block Victor's orgasm, but Victor almost wished he hadn't because now Yuuri wasn't touching him at all. Yuuri was counting under his breath again in Japanese. Victor needed some kind of contact. He had barely thought about maybe just taking care of himself. He didn't want that, not really, but the temptation was horrible. Yuuri must have sensed the muscles of his arm twitching because he leveled a sly glance at Victor and asked coyly, "Do you want me to tie you up?"

Did he? "No."  He liked touching Yuuri, had been touching every part of him he could reach. "But please, Yuuri, please touch me again."

The pads of Yuuri's fingers trailed across Victor's cheek. "You're like a dream come true." Yuuri said, voice heavy. Then he dipped forward and mouthed Victor's dick soothing the spot where he'd had a death grip not so long ago. 

"Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes." Victor repeated like a litany as Yuuri pressed his face into Victor's crotch. Yuuri inhaled deeply and fuck if he didn't actually moan. Victor's words tangled into a choked sound. Just being appreciated like this was almost enough. Almost. And then Yuuri's mouth enveloped his cock and he started rocking up and down steadily, tongue swirling, and it wasn't long at all before Victor came so hard he whited out.

When Victor regained his focus, Yuuri was licking a little spill of semen from the corner of his mouth. He rubbed his hands in gentle circles over Victor's shoulders. "Are you okay?" he asked, shy again now.

"I'm so good." Victor felt like he was floating.

"Good." Yuuri flopped back on the bed. Victor noticed the very formidable outline of Yuuri's erection through his khakis and felt a bit ashamed at his selfishness.

"But Yuuri, I'm hungry, too, you know." Victor smirked, trying to overcome his bonelessness and then giving up. He tugged lazily at the front of Yuuri's trousers. "Off." Yuuri shimmied out of his clothing with an intoxicating twist of his hips. “Those, too” He plucked at the waistband of Yuuri’s underwear.

 “Uh, I’m not-" Victor cut off whatever self-critical thing Yuuri was about to say with a long kiss, then crawled on top of him and pulled his boxers down, tossing them away. Yuuri’s cock was so pretty, framed by a nest of soft black hair. And he smelled so good. He'd been steeping in arousal for a while now, and the rush of musk when Victor leaned close was enough to make him high. Victor gripped Yuuri’s hips and pivoted, lifting him.  Yuuri yelped in surprise. Victor landed on his back again and wrestled a dazed looking Yuuri into position.

 //

Yuuri stared down in awe. His knees rested on the bed just above Victor's shoulders and Victor was steadily guiding Yuuri’s hips forward. _Oh my god. Victor wants me to fuck his mouth._ It was definitely for the best that Yuuri’s brain was not running the show at the moment.  He probably would have fainted. 

Victor drew him in, wrapping his lips around Yuuri’s dick, pulling him forward, he slowed when he gagged a little, backed off and adjusted the angle then took Yuuri all the way,  until Victor's nose was buried in Yuuri’s pubic hair. His hands pulled and pushed at Yuuri’s hips, urging him to start moving

“Smack me on the leg of its too much.” Yuuri said, taking the initiative now drag himself back and then slide forward again,  slow and controlled. Victor's hands moved to knead at Yuuri’s ass. Good this felt good. Yuuri didn't want it to be over too fast,  though. He paced himself,  fucking leisurely into Victor's mouth. His body wanted more,  but he resisted the urge and kept his pace steady.

Every time Yuuri thrust forward into the warm glorious cavern of Victor's mouth,  Victor made choked moans and worked his tongue messily. Victor's mussed silver was like a demented halo. His electric blue eyes were watery, his cheeks were delightfully pink,  his lips were red and swollen around Yuuri's cock and there was a string of drool dangling down to the side of his neck. It was a million miles from the cool, detached Victor seen by the rest of the world. Yuuri had never even dared to fantasize about something like this.

It was too much -- beautiful,  genius,  perfect Victor all undone beneath him. “Victor, can I?” He asked.

Victor made as much of an affirmative sound as he probably could. Yuuri’s balls tightened and his hips stuttered through the last few thrusts.

Victor arched and pulled away so that the first jet of Yuuri’s release painted his chin and cheeks and open mouth before diving forward and sucking him dry.

Well, Yuuri thought vaguely as he slumped forward against the headboard, that was a surprise. After a few moments, he felt steady enough to run to the washroom. He returned with a few fall washcloths and a towel.  “You're a mess.” He said, gently wiping sticky fluids from Victor's still flushed skin.

 “Who's fault is that?” Victor teased,  his smile turned just a little shy.

 //

Victor noted Yuuri’s sly grin and sighed in happiness. “You know, he said,  I get the feeling you don't expect me to make good on my offer. Don't worry, once you've jizzed on something,  is yours!”

Yuuri laughed and rolled his eyes. “I think that's if you lick it, Victor.”

“My point stands.” Victor quipped.

Yuuri laughed again. Victor could listen to that sound for eternity. He could barely keep his eyes open, though.  He drifted off while Yuuri finished cleaning them both up, stirring just enough to register Yuuri snuggling in beside him and pulling a blanket over them both. 

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Your comments, bookmarks, subscriptions and kudos keep me going. I'd love to hear what you think so far. 
> 
> Come hang out with me [ on Tumblr ](https://vita-orlando.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait for this one. Unbeta'd as usual. Typos ahoy, I'm sure. Hopefully not too many.

Victor gazed out his hotel room window at the people on the street below. The gray sky was tinged with sunrise in the east and he itched to get out of the room and walk the city. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so content, and it was all because of Yuuri. Beautiful Yuuri who had groaned and turned his back when Victor kissed his neck a few minutes ago and then drifted back into deep sleep. Yuuri who would look glorious in a matching set of gold medals from next year’s Grand Prix Final and Worlds and nothing else.  
   
Yuuri slept for several more hours, not that Victor minded. It had been a while since he’d had the time to read without interruption. Well, almost without interruption. Victor found himself pausing, caught by the flutter of Yuuri’s eyelashes against his cheek or a soft sigh as he dreamed. Yuuri was so perfect, Victor was, in all honesty, a little bit terrified.  
   
Finally, after a long while, rich brown eyes blinked open and he smiled, going to his paramour immediately. “Good morning, Yuuri.” He said. “I hope you slept well.”  
   
Yuuri froze and leapt from Victor’s bed as if it was cloaked in fire, backing towards the door. “Victor!” He said.   
   
Victor carefully kept smiling, though inside, he thought he might die. That wasn’t the behavior of someone who didn’t regret the night they’d spent together. Shit. Well, he could care for his heart later.   
   
Yuuri had been about to escape the room when he realized he was wearing next to nothing and thought better of it. Now he stood, eyes wide and frightened, with one hand on the doorknob. “What’s wrong?” Victor asked, “Why are you running away?”  
   
“Umm, I, right. Sorry.” Yuuri said, dropping his hand and his eyes. “I guess last night wasn’t a dream.” He didn’t sound happy.  
   
“Nope.” Victor answered. “I had fun. You’re fun.” Yuuri was so much more than that, but it was better probably, to say something safe, something that wouldn’t scare him ever further away.  
   
Now a soft pink bloomed on Yuuri’s cheeks and he scratched at the back of his head. “I had fun, too.” He said softly, the ghost of a smile tugging on his lips. Then, still looking chagrinned, he added, “I guess I got carried away. I’ve been a fan of yours for so long, and there you were offering me things I hadn’t even dared to let myself imagine. Sorry. I’m glad it wasn’t awful for you.”  
   
Last night had been so far from awful that Victor couldn’t hold back a surprised snort of laughter. “You have my explicit permission to imagine whatever you want. Act on it, too, please. I like you.” There. That was not overbearing, not too much, but would certainly get his point across.  
   
Yuuri’s gaze was still trained on the bland hotel carpet. “That’s really nice of you to say.”    
   
//  
   
Yuuri’s awkwardness faded quickly with Victor’s assurances. The man really did know how to handle his fans. A dark tendril of jealously crept through Yuuri’s thoughts as he wondered how many times Victor must have found himself in a similar situation. Of course he could be casual about their activities the night before. He probably had skating groupies flinging themselves at him wherever he went. That didn’t bear thinking about, though. Yuuri wasn’t any worse for being one of those groupies, and he didn’t have the right to get possessive. Victor wasn’t Yuuri’s personal treasure. He belonged to the skating world. Just the fact that he was giving up his time to coach Yuuri through next year’s Grand Prix was more than enough. Getting to touch him, even once, well, Yuuri certainly didn’t have the right to wish for more.  
   
Mindful of monopolizing Victor’s time before he was forced to spend the better part of the coming year with Yuuri, he declined as politely as he could when Victor offered to order in breakfast. Instead, he picked up a latte and a breakfast sandwich at the hotel’s coffee shop and returned to the room he share with Phichit. As soon as he opened the door, his grinning best friend bounded over. “Yuuri! Where were you last night?!” He asked, mock outrage thoroughly ruined by the laughter he couldn’t quite contain. “Did you go out with Victor after dinner?”   
   
Yuuri shook his head, failing to bite back his own grin.   
   
Phichit’s eyebrows shot up. “You stayed in with Victor? Yuuri, tell me that means what I think it means.”   
   
Yuuri could feel his cheeks flush as he nodded, not daring to look Phichit in the eye.   
   
“Nope.” Phichit eyes were bright with intrigue. “I need to hear you say it, Yuuri. Because I can’t misunderstand this. And I’m pretty sure you need to hear you say it, too.”   
   
Yuuri took a deep breath and whispered, “I had sex with Victor Nikiforov!” Phichit was right. Saying it made it feel more like a thing that had actually happened. A moment later, he let loose a truly epic fanboy squeal, then instantly felt bad for disturbing their neighbors. “And Phichit, he’s so cool.” Yuuri said, “Like, I have no idea how to handle the whole awkward morning after thing, but he did. He was totally polite and made sure I didn’t feel weird about it.” Phichit gave him kind of a funny look then, but he had to tell someone about just how perfect Victor actually was, so he kept going. “And his body is seriously perfect. Every single muscle is sculpted just right, and his skin is so pale, it’s like he’s one of those marble statues of a god, but in real life. All that, and he’s fun to hang out with, too.”  
   
“I think the feeling is mutual.” Phichit turned his phone around to show Yuuri a selfie Victor had just posted of himself with a cup of coffee and a glowing smile. The caption read: Probably don’t even need coffee. Amazing food at #kanda with @katsuki-y, @phichit+chu, @coach-ciaociao and friends. I ate like a god and then had the best night ever.

"That's got to be an exaggeration."  Yuuri huffed. "How does he look so perfect already?" He turned to his own blotchy face and disheveled hair in the mirror and sighed. 

Yuuri didn't see much of Victor for the rest of Worlds.

Practice for the gala exhibition and the event itself were all business, with no time for Yuuri and Victor to share more than a quick hello. The banquet wasn’t much better. Yuuri found his time entirely monopolized by JSF representatives and sponsors, a few of them new ones. It was good, and he couldn’t bring himself to regret doing well, but the extra week he’d planned to stay in Japan looked like it would be eaten up by contract meetings and photo shoots at this rate.  
   
“Yuuri-kun!” A young man, hair dyed with a bright shock of red rushed up to him when the manager from Mizuno left him. “Will you take a photo with me?”  
   
“Umm. Sure.” Yuuri frowned, wondering why the silver medalist from nationals wanted a picture, but posed with him gamely. “You’re Kenjiro Minami, right?”   
   
“Yes. I didn’t get a chance to say it at nationals, but I started skating because of you. I’m begging my coach to let me skate to Lohengrin next year. You don’t mind, do you?”  
   
“Umm, no?” Yuuri said. “I mean it’s not like I own it. Anyone can skate to it.”   
   
Minami looked about to say something else when he narrowed his eyes and put his hands on his hips. “You trying to put in another bid?” he asked testily over Yuuri’s shoulder. “Because I don’t think there’s enough money in the world.”  
   
Just then he was grabbed from behind and Victor Nikiforov’s silver head leaned against his cheek. “You’re so mean, Kenjiro Minami.”  
   
“You got a dinner invite, so I don’t feel that bad.” Minami said.   
   
“I got a lot more than that.” Victor purred so suggestively that Yuuri almost died.   
   
Minami snorted and raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Well, I’m playing the pocky game with him day after tomorrow.”  
   
“What?!” Yuuri said at the same time that Victor asked “What’s that?”  
   
“It’s for the shoot for that girls’ magazine.” Minami supplied as Yuuri buried his head in his hands. “Nevermind.” He said to Victor, shaking his head.   
   
“Ooh. You have to try it with me, too.” Victor said, apparently having turned to google when Yuuri didn’t answer his question.   
   
Yuuri could hardly believe Victor wanted to do something so childish and he groaned, beyond grateful that there was no pocky at the banquet. He was sorely tempted when a waiter walked by with a tray of champagne flutes. Unfortunately, even in limited quantities Yuuri and liquor and Victor in the same room seemed to lead only to awkward mornings. He could certainly do without any more of those, especially since Victor was supposed to be his coach. He'd have to be careful or he'd ruin everything, and then he really would have to crawl into a hole and die. 

Yuuri did not have time to be jet lagged. He'd spent an extra three days in Japan handling business and doing photo shoots, including the incredibly embarrassing pocky game shoot with Minami. The photographer had tried to ease their nerves, grumbling about them both being far too red. "A little flush is cute; you look like a pair of tomatoes." That had, of course, only made matters worse. The session dragged on hours longer than expected, and then Minami had insisted that they hang around until he talked someone into fetching a printed proof for Yuuri to autograph.

Apparently, the Mizuno rep at that shoot was a fan. She sent Yuuri home with another suitcase full of training gear. Not that he wasn't grateful (what college student didn't love a reason to put off laundry for another week?), but the extra bag really slowed his progress through the Detroit Metropolitan Airport. He ended up lugging it all along with him to meet his professor. He felt a little bad about filling her tiny office with luggage, but he hoped it made his case a bit more sympathetic. She'd taken one look at him and sighed, handing him his take-home mid-term with a strict warning that it must be returned within 24 hours.

One more Uber ride and Yuuri was home. He could have taken the bus, but with all of the bags, it seemed worth the extra cost to hire a car. He propped his backpack against the door and dug out his key, cursing himself for not stopping to use the restroom back in the engineering building. He opened the door and dropped the bags waving a quick greeting to Phichit and then held up a finger in the universal symbol for "wait a minute." Just as he opened the door to their tiny bathroom, he registered Phichit's startled "Yuuri, wait, there's-" 

Victor Nikiforov unfolded himself from the fiberglass hip bath and extended a hand to Yuuri. "Yuuri! You're fantastically late. Even Aeroflot hasn't kept me more than a day." He grinned beautifully. Yuuri felt as if his entire mind were grinding to a halt. He'd half convinced himself that he'd imagined the intimacy he and Victor had shared the night after his free skate at Worlds. 

Without a word, Yuur backed into the hall, closing the door between them and rushed over to Phichit. "Why is Victor here?" Yuuri hissed. "How could you possibly not have told me that Victor is here?!"

Phichit smiled cheekily. "Serves you right for not keeping up with SNS Yuuri." He held up his phone, showing Yuuri a photo of all three hamsters perched on Makkachin's head. It had a truly absurd number reactions. "He's coaching you, isn't he?"

"He really is." Yuuri said in awe. "But that doesn't explain why he's in our bath."

"Oh, he's staying with us while he's in Detroit. Did we not chat about that?" Phichit's innocent expression might have convinced some, but Yuuri had seen him practicing that exact look in the mirror. 

Yuuri couldn't voice a complaint before Victor emerged from the bathroom with a plush violet towel much nicer than anything previously seen in their apartment haphazardly slung around his hips. "He brought his own towels?" Yuuri muttered in confusion.

"He brought everything." Phichit murmured in awe.

Yuuri had been about to ask exactly what that meant when Victor opened the door to Yuuri's room and fifty-five pounds of standard poodle barreled down the hallway and into Yuuri's arms. He cuddled Makkachin gamely before hauling himself to his feet. "Phichit." Yuuri said, dread blossoming in his chest, "please tell me you took my posters down."

"Mmm. Nope." Phichit's tone was entirely too sunny for someone who went to bed much earlier than Yuuri.

"I know where you live, Chulanont." Yuuri sprinted through the hall the way the dog had just come, searching his mind for some way to do damage control. 

He was brought up short by the sight of his room, buried under stacks of shipping boxes. Victor stood in the narrow path leading to the bed pulling on a green t-shirt. "I haven't said a proper hello yet. Welcome home, Yuuri." He wrapped his arms around Yuuri's shoulders and brushed a kiss against his cheek.

Yuuri breathed in, basked for a moment in the scent of Victor before remembering his manners. "I'll just grab a few things." He said, shuffling towards his mostly hemmed in closet. " He didn't know what he'd been planning, but a quick glance told him that he had no hope of surreptitiously denuding his walls. Phichit had apparently been dead serious when he said that Victor had brought everything with him. "And give you your space. I don't mind bunking with Phichit." If he were to be totally honest, actually, Yuuri sort of did mind. He liked having his own space to retreat to, but this was Victor Nikiforov. Here to coach him. Yuuri wouldn't complain about a single thing. He and Phichit had shared a nine by eleven room in the dorms two years ago. Phichit's room was way bigger than that. 

"You're not going to stay in here with me?" Yuuri couldn't place Victor's tone, but Yuuri had seen that expression in more than one press conference. 

"What? Oh, no. Of course not." If there was a gold medal for most awkward human in the world, Yuuri would win without contest. Did Victor really think Yuuri would be so rude as to make him share a room after he already came all the way here from Russia. Victor definitely gave up a life of luxury to come here and coach him. Yuuri still didn't understand why, but he refused to question his good fortune. Still, he wouldn't force Victor to share a bedroom. He'd grown up in a hospitality family, he wasn't rude.

"I already ordered a bigger bed." The lines at the corners of Victor's eyes became the slightest bit more pronounced. 

"Ah, that's fine," Yuuri said hastily. "Please arrange things however makes you happy." Yuuri liberated his text book and clothes for the next couple days from the sea of boxes and beat a hasty retreat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Your comments, bookmarks, and kudos really encourage me!
> 
> Comes squee with me [ on Tumblr ](https://vita-orlando.tumblr.com) and hit me up with ideas for what shenanigans or boys should get up to in Detroit next chapter and other prompts, too.


	7. Chapter 7

"Yuuri, what are you doing?" Phichit didn't stop scrolling through his phone as Yuuri came into his room. "Aren't you staying in your room with Victor?"

"I'm not making him share a room. He's Victor Nikiforov!"

"Really, you seemed fine sharing with him at Worlds?" Phichit's arched one perfectly manicured eyebrow.

"We were both kind of drunk. I'm not going to hold that over his head after he was so gracious about it. Besides, did you see all his stuff? I don't think there's room for me."

"Yuuri." Phichit gripped his shoulders hard. "Yuuri, please go back in there before that man dies of dehydration."

"I'm pretty sure you're way off base." Yuuri said.

"Oh!" Phichit looked instantly delighted. Yuuri instantly went on alert. "So, if you're going to refuse to believe that Victor moved halfway around the world to get his hands on your booty, you must be acknowledging that you career alone is definitely worthy of his notice."

"Umm," Yuuri had been hoping so, but it didn't seem likely. "I think it's more like one of those makeover shows, and he's only bothering with me because I'm pretty much a disaster and there's nowhere to go but up?" He gave Phichit a hard look. "Can we stop, please? I have a midterm due in twenty-two hours."

Yuuri had a hard time focusing on his work. He wasn't sleepy, which he really ought to be, considering the last time he slept. His heart kept fluttering and he wanted to get up and run around the room. It took him a depressingly long time to realize that this feeling was happiness. Victor had moved all the way to Detroit just for him.

 

//

 

Victor lay on Yuuri's bed, staring up at his own face over and over again. The Victor in many of those images was considerably younger, in others, considerably touched-up. He took a quick selfie with his phone, but even softened with a filter, the beginnings of crows' feet at the corners of his eyes caught his attention. His forehead was so much higher than it had been at sixteen. He'd convinced himself, from one week to the next, that maybe it wasn't changing. The old photos called out his lie. Coming here had possibly been a mistake. He'd been happy enough before Yuuri stumbled into his life at Socchi. Well, maybe not, but he hadn't really noticed how lonely he'd become, so it was okay. And now, with the shining beacons of dancing with Yuuri, talking with Yuuri, making love to Yuuri, everything else seemed far more dismal than it ever had before. Proximity only made the problem a million times worse. Yuuri was so close, couldn't be more than ten meters away in this tiny apartment and yet he seemed more unreachable than ever.

Makkachin nudged the door open with her fluffy head and padded in to hop by Victor's side. He burried his head in her flank and cried. "Makka, he doesn't want me." He confessed. Of course, the dog didn't understanding him, but they'd been together so long, she surely sensed his feelings. She licked at his tears with her stinky dog tongue until Victor laughed, then she huffed out a breathy half-bark and settled down half on his lap.

Victor wasn't sure when he'd fallen asleep, but he woke up to Makkachin's cold nose on his face. When he opened his eyes, she whined. "You want to go out?" He asked. She nosed her leash from its place on the bedside table and barked. "Okay."

The apartment was dead quiet. Had Yuuri and Phichit both left? He walked Makkachin around the outskirts of the private swim and tennis facility by Yuuri's apartment complex. Maybe he'd join when summer came and the outdoor pools opened. He hadn't been swimming in a while.

Settling down on a park bench, Victor opened a message to Chris _I think Yuuri's only interested in me when he's drunk?_ Chris didn't respond. _What am I doing wrong?_

When he finally made his way back to the apartment, everything was still quiet, but the door faced the apartment's kitchenette and he could see Yuuri's head propped on his arm at the small, battered kitchen table. He was snoring lightly and his hair was in disarray, like he'd been running his hands through it. Adorable. "Yuuri." Victor crooned, leaning in close to him. "You're going to get a cramp if you sleep like that."

Yuuri's only response was to bury his face against his elbow, wrinkling the page of a book in the process. Makkachin   sniffed at Yuuri's hip and then wandered back to the living room, really only denoted as a separate space from the kitchen by the carpet on the floor. She flopped down lazily and thumped her tail a few times, watching them.

"Yuuri." Victor tried again, lightly scratching Yuuri's upper back. He felt so warm, even through his sweatshirt.

"Huh?" Yuuri rocked backwards, and Victor had to steady the rickety kitchen chair to keep him from spilling over backwards. He looked up at Victor and his face bloomed into a soft smile that had Victor feeling like there was a small fireworks display going on inside his chest.

"You fell asleep." Victor said. "Want me to distract you for a while so you don't end up jet lagged for the next week?"

Yuuri looked like he might actually say yes, but then he glanced down at the spread of work in front of him and groaned. "I don't have time." He whined. "Let me up."

Victor obliged and Yuuri shuffled over to the fridge, stretching his neck as he went. Victor peered at the book Yuuri had been laying on, but he couldn't make heads or tails of most of it. Yuuri came back with a sugar free energy drink, and drank it down quick. He didn't seem to like it much. "What are you reading?"

"I missed an exam while I was in Japan. This professor does all her make-up tests as take-home problem sets. Unfortunately, they're way harder than her regular tests. It's open book, not that it helps as much as you'd think."

"You're in school during the season?" Victor asked, surprised. He'd expected Yuuri to keep his studying to the summer months.

"I'm always in school, I just don't take as many classes at a time as most students because of skating. Most people only do Fall and Spring semester, but go full time. There are also three short semesters, one over the winter and two in the summer. I go part time, all the time." Yuuri shrugged. "I'll finally get to graduate in May if I can pass this class. I was supposed to be done after the winter term, but I dropped my final course to focus on training."

"Wow!" Victor said, "I read a lot, but I stopped formal school as soon as I could get away with it."

"Well," Yuuri said, his mouth quirking a little in what Victor was coming to recognize as amusement. "You probably don't need a back-up career. I figured I'd better pick something practical."

"And you picked math?" Victor asked, gesturing to the page of arcane symbols at Yuuri's side.

"Engineering." Yuuri shrugged. "It's not easy, but it's always in demand." After a moment, he scratched at the back of his head and said, "I'm sorry I'm not very good company. I have to have this turned in by eleven tomorrow morning, but I wanted to finish this evening. I have rink time booked early tomorrow. Um, if that's okay with you, coach?" Yuuri added shyly.

"Of course!" Victor said. "I want to get a feel for your training regimen and see what we need to adjust before we start working on programs. The sooner the better."

Victor busied himself organizing his space, popping out every once in a while to watch Yuuri work. Once, Victor saw Yuuri worry at his pencil with his teeth. It brought back all kinds of memories of Yuuri's mouth. The next time he went back to his room he didn’t get any unpacking done at all.

Victor had been just about to ask about food when he smelled something heavenly.  Phichit came bustling in with an impressively large grocery bag that seemed to hold their dinner. Victor helped him set everything out on the coffee table and then rested a hand on Yuuri's shoulder.  "Can you take a break?" He asked.

"Yeah." Yuuri looked exhausted. "I'm actually just finishing up." He perked up a little when he saw the table. "Mrs. B was good to us this week." He said.

"Yeah," Phichit scooped rice into his bowl, followed by curry. "I mentioned that we had a superstar guest and she gave us lots extra. Victor, do you like curry?"

"Yes!" Victor said, filling his own bowl.

"And rice." Yuuri's moan should have been illegal. "My favorite thing about the off season is rice."

"Can I try that?" Victor asked, looking at the crushed peppers Phichit was heaping into his bowl.

"Sure!" Phichit passed it over.

"Careful," Yuuri said, "Phichit basically eats fire. You should probably use less."

Victor smirked. In his younger years, he'd have taken that as a challenge, there were some good things about age. He sprinkled just a light spoonful of pepper onto his dish.

With dinner finished, Yuuri apparently didn't have a reason to keep himself vertical anymore. He slumped against Victor's side. It felt so natural to bring an arm up around him. Victor soaked in the experience of Yuuri drowsing against him, and before long, Makkachin sprawled herself on top of both their laps with a happy whine.

"Yuuri," Phichit's dark eyes sparkled slyly, "Jessa just texted. She wants to come over."

"'kay" Yuuri mumbled.

Phichit flashed Victor a wink and a thumbs up, and in scant minutes, a knock sounded at the door. "Hello, beautiful lady!" Phichit said as he ushered his guest into the apartment. The young woman who walked in was probably not older than twenty, Victor thought. Some kind of athlete, if he had to guess, but not figure skating. The woman stood as tall as Victor himself, and probably outweighed him by thirty pounds. Not that he'd had any particular vision of Phichit's booty call, but he was a bit surprised nonetheless. She looked like an Amazon beside Phichit. The way Phichit's grin stretched from ear to ear, he apparently couldn’t be more pleased.

"Jessa, this is Victor."

"It's a pleasure." Victor nodded down at the dozing Yuuri, "I hope you'll forgive me for not getting up."

"It's cool." She said, green eyes sparkling. "You're that guy that Yuuri always talks about, right?"

Victor knew his bright smile was answer enough. Phichit moved through the apartment, packing leftovers into the fridge in a whirlwind of activity before pulling a couple of beers from the fridge and whisking Jessa off to his room and shutting the door. The click startled Yuuri, who sat up, snorting adorably.

At his confused expression, Victor leaned in conspiratorially and said, "I think you got displaced. Phichit just took a woman into his room. Come on." Victor nudged Makkachin until she got up and then hauled Yuuri to his feet. "I'm not kicking you out of your bed. You need to sleep."

"I can use the couch." Yuuri said, but his heart didn't seem to be in it.

"That's a loveseat, not a couch." Victor corrected. "It's too small."

 

//

 

Yuuri had slept on their couch before. He hated it, and given that the other option was Victor Nikiforov apparently all too willing to cuddle up to him in Yuuri's own bed, he didn't have it in him to protest much. He let Victor shepherd him down the hall, stopping off at the bathroom to brush their teeth side by side.

Victor had made quick work of many of the boxes, stuffing Yuuri's closet with suits that probably each cost more than Yuuri's monthly rent. The walls, though, the walls were horrifying. All of Yuuri's Victor Nikiforov memorabilia remained, but it was mirrored by his own image on posters and clipped magazine ads, all framed and hung on the wall. "Wow." He said. "I didn't even know they made all this stuff."

"You should probably pay more attention to your sponsorship contracts, then, Yuuri." Victor said. "I'll share the file formats I use to track everything if you want."

"Oh, um. Thanks." Yuuri gestured to the wall, "but why hang all this stuff up?"

"I don't know." Victor's tone was playful. "Why did you?" He waved at the many iterations of his own image.

"I've always looked up to you." Yuuri said, "Ever since the first time I saw you skate. You inspire me."

"Yes, well." Victor said, "replace 'skate' with 'dance' and that's pretty much it." Yuuri couldn't quite read Victor's expression, nor could he fathom what about him could possibly have inspired Victor. "Now come on. It's late enough to sleep without wrecking your schedule."

Yuuri climbed dutifully into bed, scooting all the way back against the bedroom wall. Laying down felt so good, he started to close his eyes immediately until he sensed Victor move as if to turn away. Hadn't Victor said he was alright with sharing a bed? Earlier, he'd remembered every reason he needed to keep things professional. Now, after spending the evening tucked against Victor's side, all he felt was bereft. He could probably blame it on being half out of his mind with exhaustion.

Yuuri reached out and grabbed a fistful of Victor's shirt before he could think better of it. "Where are you going? Stay." He'd hardly lifted the blanket in invitation before Victor was curled around him, a beautiful, surprised expression on his face.

 

//

 

Victor woke well before sunrise, too hot to sleep. He didn't mind sharing a twin bed if it was with Yuuri, but sometime in the night, Makkachin had climbed on top of them. His Russian blood couldn't handle this much body heat in such a small space. He slipped out of bed, not as stealthily as he might have managed had he not been impeded by the dog. Yuuri didn't stir, and Makka settled down beside him, apparently uninterested in following Victor out to the living room.

An answer from Chris awaited him. _Aren't you currently living with him?_

_I kind of just showed up and moved in._ Victor replied. _I thought he'd be happy._

_Why are you like this?_ Chris asked. He produced no further commentary, and certainly no meaningful advice.

Initially, Victor had thought getting on the ice and demonstrating would be an advantage. Now, for the third time, he found Yuuri looking at him with an unfathomable expression, not at all focused on the drills they were doing. "Yuuri." He skated up close. "Yuuri, you seem distracted. What's wrong?"

"Ah," Yuuri scratched at the back of his head. "Even though I failed, skating on the same ice as you at the Final, it was a dream come true. And this, I don't know. I guess I'm just a dumb fan after all."

"I want to skate together with you, too, Yuuri," He took Yuuri's hands in his and started moving backwards across the ice. Neither one of them were trained to skate with a partner, but they fell into a rhythm soon enough. It gave Victor an idea. "You said you know my Stammi Viccino?" He asked.

"Ah, yes." Yuuri said.

"Will you show me?"

"Okay."

Victor took a place against the boards and watched as Yuuri's body sang out Victor's own prayer like an answer. He blinked against the flood of tears that welled up unexpectedly when Yuuri finished, reaching straight for Victor in the final pose. "Beautiful, Yuuri!"

"You really don't mind?" Yuuri asked later, in the locker room.

"Mind what?"

"That I've been skating your routines." Yuuri's gaze remained resolutely on the floor.

"Not at all." Victor might have if certain other skaters had done it. He wouldn't put it past particular individuals to try, just to prove that they could. Yuuri wasn't like that though. His love for the skating, his joy in skating programs built out of Victor's heart and soul, came through in elegant movements, full of feeling. Yuuri skating his program felt like a love letter.

“Use it for your exhibition if you want to.” He said, then smirked. “Would you like to see what I’m thinking for your short program?”

Yuuri nodded mutely, looking nervous. Victor keyed up the music he’d had composed, inspired by the very man in front of him. As the opening strains of “On Love: Eros” played, Victor danced through the opening choreography of the routine he’d planned for Yuuri.

Victor's answer left Yuuri gaping. "I can't skate like that!" He said, finally.

And despite Victor's assurances, it seemed that maybe he was right. Yuuri managed the step sequences and spins alright, marking the places for jumps since they’d yet to talk about what Yuuri thought he could do. Technically, it was fine, but the performance was stiff, with none of the sensual fluidity the routine demanded.

Victor watched, contemplating how to get Yuuri where he needed until he was interrupted by “Victor! I know you’re here!” followed by a stream of angry, profanity laden Russian.

“Oh, Yuri!” He said when the teen approached the ice. “What are you doing here? I’m surprised Yakov let you come.”

“You promised to choreograph my senior debut, asshole.” Yuuri practically “You think I’m going to let you off the hook just because you’re mooning over this loser?”

“Oh!” Victor did recall something about that, vaguely, now that he thought about it. “You know how I forget things sometimes.” He shrugged. Well, he had the other version of “On Love.” It was perfect for Yuri. He look like an angel, and hate every minute of it, which was no more than he deserved for elbowing in on Victor’s time with Yuuri.

“Hi, Yuri!” Yuuri skated up to the boards waving halfheartedly. “Didn’t expect to see you until the Grand Prix.”

“Whatever.” Yuri stood with his hands on his hips. “I’m jetlagged. Show me where I’m staying.”

When Yuuri met his eyes with a helpless, searching look, Victor just shrugged.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Your comments and kudos and love keep me going. I really struggled with this chapter. Initially, I was going to wrap things up pretty quickly with a few fun domestic Detroit scenes. Yurio demanded not to be left out, though.
> 
> Come hang out with me [ on Tumblr ](https://vita-orlando.tumblr.com)


	8. Chapter 8

“I’m sorry.” Yuuri mouthed at Phichit as he walked in. Resignation replaced confusion on Phichit’s face as two blonde Russians, one large dog, and a modest, leopard print suitcase followed him into the tiny living room.

“Where’s my room?” Yuri Plisetsky asked. “I’m not sharing with Victor.”

“I don’t know what kind of place you think college students who spend all their spare cash on coaching fees live in. You can sleep on the couch.” Phichit said. He turned to Yuuri with an expression of glee on his face. “I will put up with this because I love you, but you aren’t sharing my room. I need some space. You split yours with Victor. You're welcome."

"Really?" Yuri eyed the couch dubiously. "I better not get bit by anything."

"Why don't I find you a hotel?" Victor's voice was all edged pleasantness.

"He" Yuri pointed violently at Yuuri, "Doesn't get to monopolize you."

"Then try to be the kind of house guest your grandpa would be proud of, okay?"

"Whatever." Yuri said, but the comment had subdued him.

Yuuri floundered for a moment, then turned to his old friend in times of stress, food. "We've still got a lot of curry left." He said, "I'll make rice."

"Hey, what're you doing?" Yuuri jumped, surprised to see that the Russian Yuri had followed him over to the kitchen and was watching him wash rice, a confused expression on his face.

"I'm making rice." Yuuri responded, not sure where this was going.

"You're supposed to rinse it?" Oh. Americans seemed to get confused by that, too.

"It still works if you don't. It's better if you do, though." Yuuri answered.

Yuri sniffed and walked back to the living area. He tucked his bag neatly in the corner and started browsing the shelves full of DVDs and video games. He actually looked like a normal teenager, Yuuri thought.

Yuri insisted on not just matching, but actually one upping Phichit’s heat level, then promptly started coughing and sputtering, tears streaming from his eyes. “Are you okay?” Yuuri asked, amusement fading to genuine concern.

“I’m fine.” Yuri managed to say, then took another bite, obviously trying to act like it didn’t bother him and failing spectacularly.

Phichit's eyes glimmered with mischief. Yuuri almost felt bad for Yuri. Almost. "I'm so glad someone else appreciates a little heat, lil' Yuri." Phichit said, grinning. "My friend Jessa infused this coconut oil with ghost pepper. There's some ground up in there, too. You've got to try it!" Phichit passes a small jar in Yuri's direction and Yuuri has to bite his lip to keep from laughing as Phichit babbles on, seemingly oblivious to Yuri's blotchy, runny face and comically wide eyes. "Everyone gets all into these because they're supposed to be the hottest pepper or whatever, but honestly, that's not so interesting. They do have this really subtle fruit flavor, kind of lemony. So good." Phichit pauses and prods the jar closer to Yuri. "Try some."

Yuuri has to admit he's impressed when, rather than tap out, Yuuri adds a modest, but respectable spoonful of the oil to his next bite of food and puts it in his mouth. He spends the next several moments with his face burried in a couple of paper towels that Yuuri has helpfully grabbed for him, trying not to die. Finally, he says, raw and more subdued than before, "This is nothing like a lemon."

Victor, with a curious, thoughtful expression, placed a miniscule drop of oil on a bite of rice. He sniffed delicately and his eyes watered. Somehow, Yuuri thought, Victor managed to make even this beautiful as he dabbed demurely at his lower lash line. "You're wrong." He told Yuri. "I definitely taste the lemon. It's like there was a cosmic accident and a nice flavor descended into hell without deserving to. Maybe you should try it again."

"Get your goddammed hell lemons away from me!" Yuri would have been screaming, but his voice was still kind of wrecked.

Phichit sprawled against the back of the couch giggling before grabbing the jar from Victor and smothering his food in the stuff. "So good." He said a grin plastered to his face and tears streaming from the corners of his eyes.

"What, you're not having any?" Yuri asked, scowling at Yuuri.

"I don't care for it." Yuuri said, "Just the spices in the curry are enough for me."

 

Victor had wondered if Yuuri's rink wasn't too popular when they'd had the place pretty much to themselves yesterday. Apparently, it wasn't something that happened often. Today, there was a full house. Yuuri and Phichit both had practice as did a few junior skaters who stared at him and Yuri in blatant awe. Celestino shepherded them back to their work. Victor remembered watching Celestino Cialdini skate on television when he was just a novice. The man had superb showmanship. He had, in fact, been one of Victor's personal heroes. Victor had started growing his hair long after Yakov told him to focus more on the Russians he looked up to next time he got interviewed. Celestino always had the best hair. It looked just as good now as it had then. Victor was pretty sure he wouldn't be so lucky.

"It's been a while." He said, extending a hand to Yuuri's former coach.

Celestino left him hanging for a long moment before giving him the briefest handshake possible. "Why is Plisetsky here?" He asked, plainly annoyed. "Are you coaching him, too?" Clearly the man did not take Victor seriously.

Victor said "No." at the same time Yuri said "Yes."  
Celestino rolled his eyes and called out a correction to one of the juniors. "When you figure it out, I'll give you a schedule . You're both distracting my students."

"Sure." Victor said, glad for long practice at keeping his voice light no matter his internal state. That could have gone better.

"Yuri, I'll choreograph your routine, but I'm not coaching you." Victor said. Not that Yakov would ever allow that to happen in any case.

"Why not?" Yuri asked, full of teenaged vitriol. "I'm better than the Japanese pig."

"Are you?" Victor asked. Yuri obviously thought so. "I'd go so far as to say your jumps are more consistent." Sure, jumps were important, but if Yuri thought two decent quads and nothing but an eye roll at the very concept of PCS would get him onto the podium at the senior level, he was in for a harsh wake up call. "But if you think you can prove it, why don't you two compete with the routines I'm making for you."

"Good!" Yuri said. "I'll destroy him."

At the same time, Yuuri's eyes were wide. He seemed ready to object, but then his expression changed. Maybe he'd found his resolve.

"And," Yuri Plisetsky continued, "Victor has to do whatever the winner wants. If I win, you have to come back to Russia and be my coach."

Victor felt a thrill go through him, the frisson of delight at the perfect cocktail of adrenaline, submission, and competion. It was the same feeling as he'd had when Yuuri had cornered him at the banquet. The challenge and the prize echoed that moment perfectly. _If I win this dance off, you'll be my coach, won't you, Victor?_ "Great. I love that kind of thing!" He said. Beside him, Yuuri made a small sound, and his face looked grim. Victor turned to face him, leaning close. "What do you want if you win, Yuuri?" He'd probably do whatever Yuuri asked anyhow.

"Um." Yuuri hesitated, "Just stay with me."  
Victor smiled. "Of course." Stammi Viccino. Did Yuuri even realize what the words meant? That he echoed the plea Victor had been skating all last season? He gave his answer like such an off-hand, easy thing.

Working in enough rink time to properly choreograph and teach two routines to both skaters turned out to be a bit of a challenge. On top of that, Yuuri had class twice a week and, apparently, a part-time job teaching dance classes at a couple of different locations in Detroit proper.

"Can I take your class?" Victor had asked, immediately. "You're better than me in dance."  
Yuuri hadn't said more than, "Victor, you wouldn't learn a thing. I teach beginner levels for kids." Victor hadn't argued about the strength of Yuuri's fundamentals on and off the ice. He could have, but he wouldn't interfere with Yuuri's work without permission he had some sense of decorum,  despite what Yakov liked to say.

Tight scheduling, however, finally prompted Yuuri to invite him along to prevent a detour on his trip from the studio to the rink. Yuri had bussed to the rink with Phichit for a gym session, and Victor would get him on the ice until late in the evening, after one of the hockey teams finished with the rink. Yuuri had to keep his usual practice time.

Yuuri's studio wasn't actually a studio, apparently. It was a small room, with makeshift barres built out of pipe shoved against a wall and mirrors lined up on stands. The floors were nice, though. "This is really a meeting room that we managed to borrow to run most of the community center dance classes out of." Yuuri explained as he slipped behind a small screen to fiddle with connecting his phone to a sound system. "You can sit there." He waved toward the other side of the room to a row of metal folding chairs set up against the wall, less than two feet from the tape line that marked off the dance floor.

Victor made his way to the single unoccupied seat, blushing slightly, he apologized as the woman beside him adjusted her position. The baby she'd been nursing squirmed until it showed Victor a big, milky grin, and she tugged her shirt down with practiced speed. He cooed over it in the way he'd found often charmed young mothers and then gave her the trademark Nikiforov wink. "Don't mind me." He said. "I'm just tagging along with Yuuri today."

  
"Of course." The woman said, with a knowing grin. She looked like she'd been about to say something else, but they were interrupted when Yuuri clapped his hands twice and was immediately surrounded by a dozen small girls, in excessively frilly dancewear. Most were small, hardly more than toddlers, while a few might have been a bit older. Maybe five? Victor didn't spend much time around kids, but they were all significantly smaller than Yakov's few novice skaters. Yuuri sat down and the girls scrambled to make a haphazard half circle close in front of him.  
"Oh no!" A reedy little voice called. "Wait!" And another very small child in a blue tutu emerged from the restroom and ran across the floor, wiping out next to Yuuri and then righting herself with a breathless, "I'm okay." She gave a quick thumbs up to a couple sitting at the end of the row of chairs, then looked at Yuuri.

  
Victor scanned the line of families and wondered if there were places like this in Russia, too. His training had never been anything other than serious and intense, he knew this, even though he couldn't really remember his earliest lessons.

  
"Yuuri's classes are the most popular." The woman beside him whispered. "He's great with the kids. Lots more parents show up, too." She winked, and Victor chuckled as he realized she was right. The spectators watched their kids plenty, with the expressions usual to parents - pride, exhaustion, bemusement, but they also watched Yuuri with benign, though probably not innocent, interest. Victor certainly couldn't blame them.

  
Yuuri had laid out colorful little mats on the floor and corralled a child to each one. The little ones wiggled a bit but stayed more or less where he put them. Yuuri turned on music. It was a piano piece that Victor recognized but couldn't name. "Alright everyone." Yuuri said. "Do you all remember first position?"

Evidently, the majority of them did not, Victor gathered. "Show me how you make a piece of pizza with your feet." Yuuri said, demonstrating. This had a much greater effect. "Good." Yuuri waited until the stragglers managed to get more or less into position. "Now let's bend down and grab a bite. Good. Use your other arm this time. Grab a bite." He took the kids through a few more bends before he continued.

"Now show me passé. Can you stand like a flamingo?" Most of the little girls did wobbly approximations of the movement. Yuuri guided them to try the other leg, and then through a few more basic movements. He herded the children to line up on the far side of the room and took them across the floor one by one. Yuuri had each child attempt to imitate his gorgeous classical walk, pausing a few times to practice grand battements with each girl, always gentle and encouraging. Every few moments, he turned back to the children waiting at one side of the floor or the other to remind them to stay still and watch their friends. For a few moments, the worst of the meandering and rolling about on the sidelines would settle, beginning again almost as soon as Yuuri turned his attention back to his pupil.

Victor had, in an abstract way, thought he might have children eventually. Watching Yuuri's gentle enthusiasm and seemingly infinite patience, Victor had a clear vision of a little, dark haired girl with his smile and Yuuri's eyes. He gasped at the sharp pang of longing and tried to clear his head. No use indulging such thoughts now, but he tucked the image away to consider later, when he had time to understand what it meant to want such a thing, even for a brief, unconsidered moment.

Yuuri closed the class with a few minutes of music and free, wild twirling. He gave each child a sticker and sent her back to her mother, then slipped behind the screen. Victor barely collected himself quickly enough to meet him at the door. He wanted to say something, to explain just how watching Yuuri teach had made him feel, but Yuuri hurried to door, keys already in hand, and called back, "If we can make it out of the parking lot before they start coming out, we'll make our rink time."

Days later, Victor sighed and waved at the bartender for another shot. A little risk made things thrilling, but at the rate therei were going, Yuuri might actually lose. Yuri had managed to figure out Agape, more or less. Yuuri Katsuki, on the other hand was struggling. Victor didn't understand exactly how sex appeal was such a problem for Yuuri. He'd proven himself more than capable. He pole danced like someone who practiced that skill more than casually. And yet, 'pork cutlet bowl' was Yuuri's idea of eros. Victor looked at his double vodka and sighed again. Too bad alcohol on the ice would be a disaster.

Yuuri had pulled it off, though. Sometime between the last practice and getting into the ice for their informal skate-off, Yuuri managed to tap into his sexuality and give the Eros routine what it needed. "I knew you could do it." Victor said, as they waited for Phichit to get out id the rink so they could drive home. Yuri had left without a word earlier.

"Yeah, I know. " Yuuri said, looking a little like Victor might be stupid for his faith in him. "I'm glad I could prove you right."

"Yuuri," Victor moved close to him. "I was more surprised at how difficult this was for you than at you succeeding." He smoothed a stray lock of hair back away from Yuuri's face, then leaned in and whispered, "I didn't say it before because I thought I'd be putting more pressure on you, but the way you danced at the banquet, the way you took me apart at Worlds - you're one of the sexiest people I've ever met. I don't know why you don't see that in yourself."

Yuuri's cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink, and he looked thoughtful. "Because I only get that when I drink." Yuuri looked at the ground.

"In vino veritas, Yuuri." Victor said, pulling back a little. "That's you. Today you seduced me without a drop of liquor."

"I wasn't going to give you up." Yuuri looked like he was about to say something else, but before he could Phichit, who had heard only that very last bit, slung an arm around Yuuri's waist and started singing Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give You Up."

"I never got to rick roll anyone in person before." He laughed and then said, "So, Katsudon?"

Katsudon turned out to be amazing, though Yuuri spent at least five full minutes detailing all the ways his mother made it better. Victor hoped Yuuri brought him home with him sometime to try it. He tucked into his heart unspoken. His job now was to help Yuuri win gold medals. Then, maybe Yuuri would take Victor back to Hasetsu to show them off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Come tell me what you thought in the comments :)

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments and kudos give me life!
> 
> Come hang out with me [ on Tumblr ](https://vita-orlando.tumblr.com)


End file.
